A Fete Worse Than Death
by Edward and Amelia
Summary: A cruel witch casts a spell on Alec Freeman, and Ed Straker steps in to protect his friend, only to be hit with the spell himself! Straker becomes Edwina, the Rose of England. Can a High Priestess who loves him save him and change him back to himself?


**A Fete Worst Than Death** a UFO - Midsomer Murders Crossover by Amelia S. Rodgers with Ed Straker 2011 All rights reserved. **Not canon**. Alternative Universe. First of the Fiona Saga. No concepts or characters may be borrowed or taken from this story without written permission of the authors. No copyright infringement is intended by my use of the UFO or Midsomer Murders or Agatha Christie's Hercule Poirot series characters and premise. I have no affiliation with any other UFO website other than The SHADO Library. I do not allow myself to be influenced by any other self proclaimed 'superior UFO writers, or their laughable ' canon' My other stories may be found at . This story is set roughly a year after Straker's son has died. Facts, the timeline, and other details in the stories have been changed for the sake of drama. The portrayal of Barnaby and Troy in this story is more of my interpretation of the characters, and I tend to do them a little more like Graham wrote them, but I do use the few episodes I've seen as well. As for Hercule, he is all he says he is.

Chapter One: **Straker's Fete **Ed Straker sat in a wicker folding chair, a single finger tapping against his immaculate cream trouser leg, in what might have been the Morse code for unadulterated frustration. It was a beautiful spring day in Southern England, so glorious that the leaves that were flapping in the fierce afternoon breeze might have actually been applauding in appreciation of it. Blossoms shyly turned up their fair faces to the blazing English sun and joined in the celebratory May dance. He slipped gold rimmed aviator sunglasses on and thought he probably was the only human being there at the fete that remained glum. Not that he felt the least bit of guilt for the possibility of threatening any fete attendant's bright spring mood. Birds were chirping out their territorial melodies just as Mother Nature dictated, there was laughter, animated conversation, and small groups of people enjoying themselves. Three children skipped by, all holding bright red balloons. It would all have fitted rather well on a holiday postcard that a tourist might slip into the post. Ed Straker sat there, impatiently wondering where his lunch was. He also sat there wondering why he had ever allowed himself to be talked into this mess. The Commander shook his tall tumbler so that the ice would make the ginger ale even colder. He seized and squeezed the thin slice of lime on the edge of the plastic glass until the remainder of its juice dribbled into the cup. He allowed the soggy slice to plop into the drink and adjusted his position in the chair, crossing his legs at the ankle. He then returned to his favorite sport, brooding. Certainly all of this depressing merriment he was forced to witness was for a just enough cause. The proceedings from this fete would go to St. Stephen's Church, and a man from a past he rarely talked about was one of the chief clerics there. Right Reverend Stanley Mitchell Brisby, former chaplain for a Royal Air Force unit, and like Ed himself, previously a Vietnamese prisoner of war. Often extreme joy and unspeakable horror could bond two human beings for life, and the hell they'd shared had made Ed count the short, fragile looking, balding priest with an angelic singing voice among the very few people he considered to be his closest friends. St. Stephens fed and clothed and often employed their parishioners and the homeless, as well as providing limited medical care for them. Ed had always found Angel, for that was what most people called him because of his remarkable voice, truly inspirational. He did the Commander's idea of God's work on Earth, and he did it as naturally as breathing air. So when Angel had proposed to him that Ed and Alec attend the fete and open a booth that provided publicity brochures and promotional media for Harlington-Straker Film Studios, Ed had reluctantly agreed to do it. The cleric's simple faith had saved his sanity back in the days they'd been prisoners, with no promise of escape in sight. Yet here they were, perhaps that was what could be described as a miracle, mused the SHADO operatives were mixed in with the parishioners and attending fete goers, keeping an eye on security matters, with their priority being Straker's well being. Straker realized they were good at their jobs, and could defend him. At the same time, God helped those who helped themselves, so his Glock 19 was resting quietly in its leather shoulder holster. Not only was he independent, and able to look after himself, he could shoot off a pistil with any available pistol, and not even ruin the floral arrangement. Ed had not had a sibling, but if he'd had to choose one, it would have been Alec Freeman. And like any sibling, Alec had a tendency to get into trouble. It had to be a full twenty minutes ago that Alec had announced he was securing them two freshly made meat pastries for luncheon from one of the many food booths. Off he'd gone, to fetch Ed lunch. Only he hadn't come back yet. That might indicate he'd found the ales stand and was systematically going through the lot of them, thus leaving half of the British population attending the fete thirsty. Or it just might mean he was really in serious trouble. Ed Straker gave a sliver of a nod of his silvered head, a particular spark of command appeared in his large blue eyes, and a tall young fellow in a graphic Union Jack tee shirt and alligator boots, wearing jeans that looked like they were in the process of putrefaction to Ed's conservative disapproving eyes, suddenly appeared, and paid him the necessary homage. Straker knew him to be Lieutenant Lyle Cutter, married to another SHADO operative, with two kids and a dog with a questionable pedigree. This unfortunate soul and traditional family man named Cutter was new to SHADO, and hadn't ever been in his Holy Presence for long, and Ed knew it. Ed knew he had a wicked side, and he decided to entertain it. He watched Lyle Cutter without mercy. He knew Angel wouldn't approve. He also knew Alec when Cutter thought he might begin to melt in the merciless English heat pounding down on the fete, the way a housewife would pound a skillet upon a wandering husband's head, he found himself being cremated by Straker's twin blue gaslights gaze, finally turning into goo topped for extra aesthetic value with not a cherry but a pair of unseeing eyes. The stories were all true. Your brain functions really did fall to the level of week old vinegar and chips when you met that severe, disapproving Bostonian gaze. If Historical Bostonians were as intimidating as Straker, no wonder the Americans had fired King George, Cutter reasoned. "Go see where Freeman is." Straker said quietly, if you could call his SST voice quiet, Cutter thought. "Bring him back here at once."Lyle Cutter looked behind him at the huge crowd at the fete. Straker had just ordered the equivalent of walking on water. The SHADO security guard frowned. He was about to do the unthinkable. You weren't supposed to disturb sleeping dogs, or however the idiom had it. Straker was the equivalent of a pit bull, a Doberman, a German shepherd, and a vicious little Chihuahua all crossed to form one notorious blue eyed canine of doom, which had been deprived of coffee and starved for a week. No wonder Davis had wanted to take his break early. He attempted to remember if he had lived a virtuous life, for he was Roman Catholic, a God fearing man and he figured he was about to die and face his Maker. However, he, possibly God, and anyone else in SHADO who had a pulse, feared Straker's wrath more than any Deity's. Straker would make even the Devil cringe in fear. Lyle Cutter never could figure out why a people person like Alec Freeman, which he'd knocked back more than one foamy mug with, could stand being around Straker. But then, Lyle Cutter was better at obeying orders than he was at thinking independently. He had always been one of the sheep, never the Shepherd. He relied on other people to tell him he was any good. Straker wasn't one of them. Straker excelled at telling you just exactly how stupid you were, and he had the feeling that was exactly what Straker was about to do."Davis is on his break right now. You shouldn't be left alone in this size a crowd, Sir, someone could-" he realized he sounded more like a mouse with strep throat than an expert on Commander had drained his glass of ginger ale, and Lyle wondered why he hadn't gone into something less dangerous after University, like taming Gila monsters."You're wasting precious seconds arguing with me. I hate having to repeat myself, and you've worked for my studio long enough to know it, Cutter. I wouldn't want to have to lose my temper on the first day of May unless you force me to. Do I make myself clear?" The man nodded, and sprung off like he'd made a sprint for Olympic judges to score on. At the moment, Ed Straker was clearly holding up a card with zero on it. Lyle Cutter finally became a small dot on the Commander sighed. He stared at his empty tumbler. He listened to his empty stomach rumble. If you had to expose yourself to teeming masses at a fete because you owed an eccentric Church of England cleric a small favor, one of the few advantages you could enjoy was the variety of food being offered at the many food booths available, Ed knew. It was no different than going to fairs or carnivals back in Boston, which he had done, and enjoyed. As a matter of fact, he'd won a lot of plush animals for girlfriends by shooting at targets. Alas he was no longer young and ginger ale wasn't the proper beverage to consume when you were facing a dilemma and needed all the mettle you could procure from the bottom of a mug. Yes, as an intelligent man he believed in the possibility of some Higher Power in existence. But sometimes when faced with impossible odds, dissatisfied with ginger ale, and in need of something stronger to keep you going, you trusted in something a little less esoteric than God, and it was called a coffee bean. He grinned to himself. And he made a got up, abandoned the studio's booth, crushed the tumbler and tossed it into the rubbish can and went off in search of double sweet and light coffee, some food, and Alec Freeman.

Chapter Two: **Alec's Fete**

The first thing Lyle Cutter was aware of was the screams. It sounded like someone was being ravished on top of a sound system. The only thing was, he wasn't sure if they were enjoying it or not. Take his wife, for instance. When he was doing what his Bible told him to, go out, be fruitful and multiply (or was that the parable about the wedding and the wine problem? Atheists had it made, they had nothing to memorize in catechism class) it was all well and good, but his wife was about as active as a turtle in bed. A dead one, at that. Not that you could tell the difference with turtles. Lyle was of the mind that it had something to do with his two kids. All right, the two offspring of the Devil himself. No, even the devil wouldn't bother with his two brats. Thank God for being able to send them to school. Why couldn't they have just gotten a dog and called that a family? Well, he had to admit that his wife had called him a dog on more than one occasion. So maybe that wasn't the best of examples to keep in mind. Still, he didn't have fleas. If he didn't find Freeman soon, Straker would have him neutered anyway.A small group of souls were gathered around watching the unfolding melodrama, and Lyle realized with some relief that he had finally located Alec Freeman. But so had a group of four or five women, some of which were wearing jeweled daggers. One of them, a tall, leather and silk clad short gray and brown haired Amazon with several crystals around her neck, a short gold cloak, thigh high boots and a shrill voice that could shrivel up a charging elephant, seemed to be disapproving of Alec Freeman. In a big way. How did Lyle Cutter know that? From the look of absolute horror on Alec Freeman's face. Now, since it was a fete and people tended to go a little crazy sampling the foods and beverages available, and doing this in the hot sun, maybe that's why Alec Freeman looked greener than cow pasture. One thing he was sure of, horror wasn't an expression he'd ever seen on the Australian's leathery face before. The women all seemed to be members of a Wicca-Pagan group selling leather goods, statues, chalices, metaphysical books, gems, and handmade jewelry. Their booth was called **Gifts From The Goddess**. This perplexed poor Lyle Cutter, because he had been indoctrinated into believing in a cruel, heavily bearded, linen clad, robed and haloed old wrinkly in the sky who demanded you worship Him. The idea that the One upstairs just might be female in gender scared the pores off him. But, the more he thought about it, it made sense. After all, who pushed men around more than women and got away with it so easily? Besides, having a female God would make things ever so much simpler for him, he thought happily. All you'd have to offer her would be dinner, chocolates and flowers, and the keys to the heavenly cottage would be yours when your time came to die. Lyle Cutter spotted a few brochures on their display. Maybe if Straker didn't kill him, he'd look into converting as soon as possible. The cloaked one was yelling again. Freeman was backing away from her slowly. Cutter didn't blame him one bit."_YOU_! I will _KILL_ you! You took my virginity while I was in my cups and you disappeared! I am Magla, daughter of the Goddess, and Mother Earth. Nobody treats me that way! Nobody!""Now wait just a minute. You uh-you must have me mixed up with someone else! Lyle! Thank God. Tell her who I am. Tell her that she's wrong!" Alec pleaded."_WRONG_? You think that I would not remember that face? The sins of your lustful body have scarred you for life! Do you not know that if you do an injustice to another, it returns to you threefold? Now you will face me, and I and all womanhood besieged by deceptive men will have our revenge!""Magla, you are making a scene not becoming of one born of the Goddess, and you know we do not take a life. As for your virginity, did a man also take your reason? Silence!" One of the women, shorter, a few years younger, caped and with pearls wrapped in her long dark hair, stood and took Magla's arm in hers."No, Fiona, this is my right!"Magla pulled away from Fiona roughly and reached into her cloak and pulled out a small pouch. She said some words Lyle couldn't understand over it. Alec looked like he might run, the prospect of fighting a woman not appealing to him, but the shorter woman grabbed him with surprising strength for such a petite woman, and prevented it."If you still have a reliable thought in your skull, fool, you will make amends to my sister and do it speedily, for she is bad tempered." Fiona warned Alec."Your _sister_?" Alec gulped in a familiar, deep and precise voice broke Alec's silence."Are you in trouble_ again_, Alec? She doesn't necessarily mean by blood. They believe all women are their sisters. Wicca is a religion recognized by the Air Force, and all belief should be respected, even the choice of a few unfortunate souls that persist in not believing in anything, despite the scientific studies on the matter. There are always going to be people that brand themselves as atheists, when actually, some feel threatened by the thought of finally having to justify their immoral lifestyle to a Higher Power. They're probably the same ones who still believe that the Earth is square. Listen, I'm Ed Straker, maybe I can straighten this out before someone does something they'll regret, Maam." Ed said in what he hoped were diplomatic tones, although diplomacy was about as comfortable for him as the prospect of sleeping naked on a cactus."A man dares to interrupt me?" Magla spat the words at Straker like verbal phlegm."I'd interrupt anyone who threatened my friend Alec." Straker said evenly, meeting her stare without blinking. He might have been one of the Goddess statues on display, some sort of idol meant to keep one from didn't seem to be intimidated by Straker's deadly tones, but Fiona both admired and studied Ed carefully, as if he were a crystal she sought clarity in. Magla seemed to be doing something with her pouch, she had taken something out of her pocket, and added it to the contents of the pouch. "He is marked by the Goddess, this Straker, that is clear enough to me. Leave them be Magla, they were destined to be friends." Fiona ordered. Clearly she was the equivalent of Straker among the women, possibly their High Priestess, he thought. Straker gave her a genuinely respectful nod, perhaps recognizing a kindred soul."Blessed be." The Commander said to her looked shocked for a moment, and then smiled. No man, British or American, had ever said those words to her in a way that clearly indicated he understood them, sanctioned them, and meant them. This stranger, with his quiet elegance, and understated flair for taking command of what promised to be an ugly situation, had done just that. She gave him a nod of reverence that he clearly deserved. Their eyes whispered promises to each paid no attention to either natural leader, and suddenly made a gesture which Straker immediately took for a sneak attack on Freeman. Straker pushed Alec out of the way, stepped protectively in front of him and went for his Glock as a means of was one second too late, and wound up being covered, face and body, by a malodorous orange powder obviously meant to hit looked bewildered for several tense seconds, had trouble breathing, and then he passed out.

Freeman gave a cry, but was stopped by a stout, smiling man on the wrong side of fifty and his younger sweaty and depressed looking companion.

"For God's sake, he's hurt!" Alec yelled at him. The man took Alec's panic like it was a interesting paperback book he could peruse.

"Which is precisely why my partner is going to call 999, aren't you, Troy?

"Yes, Sir." His companion dispiritedly poured out the rest of his expensive American made ale into a dry patch of grass, then took out his cellular phone.

" Good man, Troy. Don't worry, Mr- ?"

"Freeman. Alec Freeman. He's a friend of mine. Thank God, he's still breathing. Call the police, that woman assaulted him, she may have poisoned him! "

"Good afternoon to you, Mr. Freeman, don't worry about your friend, he looks to be in the prime of life, and with these aching feet, I almost envy him his nap. Frankly, you should be glad I'm a frequent customer of this booth, and enjoying the Fete. My wife sends me here every season, sure as Big Ben strikes on the hour, to get gifts for her friends that practice the Craft. Sorry, how rude of me. I'm Detective Chief Inspector Tom Barnaby."

"Ambulance service and squad car on the way, Sir. Craft? You don't mean to say these woman are all witches?"

The women all stared at Troy speaking volumes without text save for Magla, who stood there nervously, and Fiona, who knelt next to Alec, who was loosening the unconscious Commander's clothing. Lyle Cutter stood there, as helpful as a rubber knife in a war. Fiona produced a handkerchief and a bottle of water from a fold in her cape and wet Straker's face, but Troy stopped her. She was about to lose her temper, but better battles would be fought, and won. Quietly, she looked down at Straker. It was like looking at a masterpiece in the British Museum. Alec bent over Straker.

"Bright young fellow, isn't he? " the DCI smiled. "Troy, take Miss Warren under arrest, that's a good fellow."

Chapter Three : **Sins of The Sister**

"You can't blame yourself for the sins of your sister Magla." Ed Straker told Fiona gently. The High Priestess brushed away her tears as she sat beside Ed Straker in the causality department of the local hospital. Alec had left them and had gone to do Straker's paperwork. Straker had been pronounced in perfect health, none of the tests had revealed any latent illness. He'd changed back into his own cream Nehru jacket and trousers, which still had stains from the powder Magla had thrown on him. It had been found to be nothing more than orange scented talc.

"So you knew who she was all along, Edward?"

"So my hunch was right?" Ed smiled. "After all, you do resemble her, I couldn't help noticing it. Alec has found himself in situations like that before. The more he protests, the more guilty he seems. But he's a man of honor, he wouldn't take advantage of an intoxicated woman. I wondered why the head of a coven would tolerate a woman of questionable sanity behaving in a way that disgraced her coven. I started to suspect she might be more to you than just a friend."

"You were testing me just now, Ed? I was right as well, although born a man, you bear the gift of the Goddess. So many of my kind believe that there can be no honor in a child of the Goddess if it is born male. They are far more confused than the men they thoughtlessly group together, foolishly thinking all men are the same. Yes, she is my true baby sister, she is five years younger than I."

Ed listened with a stern expression, as Fiona described what Magla's life had been like. Fiona described the untimely death of her and Magla's parents, of how Magla was raped as a teen by a much older, dominant man who had vanished afterwards and Magla had suffered flashbacks and worse ever since. Magla had always mistaken men's lust for the parental love she was denied, and when the men had failed her, she'd cast spells on them. The loss of her virginity had also been the loss of her already fragile sanity. The petite white witch had described how professionals hadn't been able to help her baby sister – how do you help someone who won't admit there was anything wrong? Fiona had done what she could, brought Magla into an understanding coven so she could learn to control her natural power, but Magla had misused her gifts.

"So you're telling me she's confusing Alec with this rapist?

"Ed, Alec did go to bed with her, but its obvious she was disguised or he would have recognized her. These games are nothing new for her, I'm afraid. She often uses her feminine guile to seduce men, and then blames the disastrous consequences on everyone but her. I can't tell you how many times I've had to pay a solicitor to get her out of jail. Now she has gone too far. She will pay dearly for what she has done Ed, for my coven only practices white magic, and Magla's trauma and neurosis does not excuse what she does over and over again. I fear the Goddess won't be lenient toward Magla this time. I consider myself independent and had no permanent need of a man to define or approve of me, but I too did seek a substitute family. I was found and was accepted into our coven, which works hand in hand with Right Reverend Brisby to help those in need, and brought my sister with me. As the years went on, I became their High Priestess and I started our small business, and we prospered. "

"Go on." Ed encouraged Fiona.

"I forced Magla to tell me what really happened while they took you to the hospital. She told me she took a cigarette butt from your friend Alec's house after sleeping with him. She always takes things from whomever she has sex with, because she is trying to recreate what happened to her the day of the rape, with different results. Now I see that it was your cigarette butt instead. "

"I've been at Alec's house often, I must have left it there."

"Will you press charges against her?"

"For what, Fiona? Alec could hardly cause Magla any more trouble than she already has brought to herself, he isn't that kind of revengeful person, he hasn't been harmed, just humiliated a little, and I'd guess that was a beneficial lesson to learn, and long overdue in my opinion, considering his many affairs. As for myself, exactly what am I supposed to do? Go to DCI Tom Barnaby and DS Gavin Troy and tell them that I've had a spell cast on me? I'm supposed to claim I am the victim of a magic spell that was meant to punish my best friend for stealing a virginity that wasn't there to take in the first place? I'd get thrown in the nearest insane asylum! Fiona, I've seen a lot of strange things all my life, and I've had to go through things I wouldn't wish on my own enemy. This is far out of my ability to understand and make sense of. You tell me what she did to me was black magic. My gut tells me I can trust you, and that this is for real. But what am I supposed to do now, Fiona? I have a life, and a job to do. I can't do it properly in the body-"

"Edward, when I looked at you, I saw you were an old, wise spirit who has been with Alec for many lifetimes. You seem far more to me than simply a movie studio executive. I will not look further, for it is not my business, and I would not want to add to your pain. But believe me, you will lose nothing, have lost nothing, there is nothing that could take away what defines you, and that is your soul. You are a honorable man. I wish there were something more I could do for you, but this curse's undoing is beyond even my humble skills, which are said to be considerable."

"How long before it begins to show? How long do I have before I become someone I won't recognize?"

"She yielded real power, allowed the blackest of her magic to be unleashed, and she will pay dearly for using her skills unwisely. My guess is by nightfall, it will begin. I will ban her from the coven for life, and Goddess help me, I do not know where I will find that strength, to do what should have been done long ago. She is still my little sister. In truth, what has happened here is not her fault, but mine, for failing to act soon enough to spare you this suffering. I am so sorry, Edward."

" You're sorry? How the hell does that help me, Fiona? I'm the victim here. You're saying nothing can be done. My friend of many years, Angel, says that this is not his department. I don't think he even really believes what happened to me. You're shutting the door, giving me no alternatives, not even offering me hope."

"The Goddess would not curse you so without reason. I know this. It is possible that this is a blessing you cannot see yet. That is the hope I can offer you, the hope you must offer yourself."

"This is a blessing? To be turned into a freak? Do you have any idea what I have ahead of me? Do you know what humiliation I'll have to endure? Do you even know how this makes me feel? This is a nightmare, and I'll never wake up from it. All right, you can go, I need some time to think by myself. Just get out of here, Fiona. _Please_."

Fiona looked sorrowful. She bent and kissed Ed on the cheek, and then silently left the room.

Ed sat on the edge of the bed and buried his head in his hands. To his utter horror, he broke into sobs. _No, damn it, I won't let this get to me. There's no scientific basis for this, none at all._

Alec Freeman entered the room in his usual carefree breezy fashion.

"All right, Ed, got everything squared away, bills paid, paperwork finished, we're ready to go. Thank God you're all right. What was that nutcase witch talking to you about, anyway? Ed! My God, what's wrong? Do you need a doctor? The idiots said there wasn't a thing wrong with you, and you're obviously still ill!"

"I'm obviously ill? Is that it? I shed tears like a normal human being after being attacked by a madwoman, I have a long, difficult day being questioned by homicide cops, poked and prodded with needles, and all you can say is I'm ill? Haven't you wanted me to go back to the life I led before Henderson and Mary and Johnny, all of it? Didn't you want me to be human again? Didn't you want to hear me laugh like I used to? So I give in to my utter misery for ten seconds, and you say I'm ill? Of course! That's right! How stupid of me to think you'd think anything else! After all, I'm Ed Straker, a cold son of a bitch, why, I probably don't even have a pulse. I don't and can't feel, remember?"

"Ed-"

Ed stood up and deliberately knocked over the pitcher of cold water on the side table in a rare show of frustration and anger fueled in part by female hormones.

"Don't say anything, Alec! You hear me? NO. Leave that be. And give me the damn keys to the car. I'm driving. Come on!" Straker swept past the Australian like a tornado passing through the exam room.

Alec froze for a moment and then had to hurry to keep up with the pace of the angry Commander.

Who had been told twenty minutes ago by Fiona that he had been cursed by her sister's magic spell, and was doomed to become a woman.

**Chapter Four: Fiona's Fate**

"I wish to see Right Reverend Brisby, it's of the utmost importance.""Do you have any idea what time it is?" The woman who answered the door glared at Fiona. "We were having our supper.""Do you know what utmost importance even means?" Fiona replied, frustrated. She'd had dealings with the cleric's wife before, and she had to hold her tongue every time, so much that she feared her tongue had fingerprints on it."Don't use that tone of voice with me, I'm a Christian, and we-""Cupcake, cupcake, settle down. Blessed be to you and God bless you, Fiona. How can I be of service to you?""Stanley Brisby, dealing with these Godless heathens is not very Christian of you!""Go inside and keep my soup warm, please, Frances. This won't take but a moment. Come in, Fiona. I'm working on a sermon so please excuse the mess. Frances, can you get us some tea and some of that lemon cake of yours?"Frances stormed off, muttering to herself, like a small scale dog growling at a Mastiff. The cleric and Fiona sat in shared discomfort on the plastic covered, floral patterned sofa."Stanley, have you known Edward Straker for long?""I'd say for an eternity, no disrespect to the Good Lord." Angel chuckled."He said you didn't believe him. ""You don't know Q-Tip like I do. He has a fierce sense of humor. I fear he didn't take poor Magla seriously.""Q-Tip? You mean Edward?" Fiona ignored Frances' disapproval as she bent and put a cup of tea and a plate full of cake in front of her."He looked like one, you see, back in the prison camp in Vietnam. Tall and pitifully thin, with that prematurely silver-blond hair of his. I fear I chickened out, didn't lead the escape attempt like I should have, being camp senior ranking officer." Angel sipped his tea. " I saw leadership ability and more in his determined blue eyes, and begged him to take my place. He got us out of that hell hole, but not before having his left shoulder blown to bits. Any lesser man would have died. He didn't. God had other plans for him.""I thought I saw the memory of physical pain in him. I also saw emotional pain too. I wonder if he knows how easy he is to read?"Angel practically spit out a mouthful of tea at Fiona's statement."Easy?" he chuckled. "Alec, who is closer to him than even the Good Lord, finds it hard to read him!"

Fiona smiled."If you have the eyes to see, and I've been given that privilege to lighten my load, thanks to the Goddess, it isn't a chore. But Angel, he wasn't pretending. He really will become a woman if we don't try to help.""You know as well as I do how troubled our Magla is. Are you sure that she would still have that kind of power?""I'm afraid so.""Then, what do you want me to do?""Join my power circle to lift the spell.""Child, I have no knowledge of the ways of your Goddess." Angel chuckled."You're just as much her child as I am. You have to try. Do you know where he lives?""I do. Come on. Let's get there, maybe I can drive Magla home too.""Magla? What are you talking about?""Magla came to me and asked for Ed's address. She said she wanted to apologize for-"Oh, blast my sister and her conniving ways, Angel! We have to get there as fast as possible. Hurry! Your Q-Tip may be in danger!"

Chapter Five: A Rose of England

"I can break the spell, if you let me."

"Quite frankly, I don't know if I can trust you." Ed told Magla.

"I know. I'd feel like that myself in your position. I guess Fiona told you all about me?"

"Listen, Magla, I'm tired, I want to get some sleep. I'd like you to leave now."

"You don't understand, I'm here to help you."

"Just _go_, Magla."

"Damn you! Fiona's really angry at me now, and it's all because of you. Fiona probably just wants you for herself."

"Fiona's been covering up for your irresponsibility possibly all your life, and that's the way you feel toward her? Do you even understand what family means? No. All you're after is the power trip involved in it, it gives you a podium to spew your hatred from. All right, that's it. Get out of here, or I'll throw you out."

"You're being stupid, very stupid, I could do anything to you I want. Anything, do you understand?" she warned him.

"Oh, believe me, I understand people like you all right. You get raped and you choose to stay a victim. But instead of using that experience to help other victims, you act in a manner that makes it pretty clear to me that you wanted the power of the rapist all along. Rape isn't about sex, Magla. It's about wielding power. And you can put that brassiere and blouse right back on, that little circus act didn't work the last time it was pulled on me by a reporter, and she had problems living in a man's world and thought sex would solve that, too. I'm not your usual empty headed male who thinks with his gonads, not his brain, and is immediately excited about seeing any flesh at all. I could see what you're offering me now on the front page of a National Geographic magazine if I cared to look. For someone to be sexually attractive to me, they have to have traits you clearly don't have. Heart, honesty, compassion and intelligence. Now get the hell out of here."

"NO!" Magla screamed, and came after him after withdrawing her althame. Ed expected it, easily used her own weight against her, knocked her down, and when she rose to go after him again, he grabbed her, and slammed her up against the wall. She screamed again, clawing at him with her long pink varnished nails as they struggled for control. He felt a red hot pain on his face and realized his strength had waned, his body was tingling and she'd used his lapse of control to manage to wound him with her ceremonial knife. Ed was vaguely aware that someone was using a key to open his door, and he decided that now wasn't a time to fight fairly. He grabbed Magla's arm, and forced it up in back of her, pulling at it, threatening to dislocate it. The althame fell from her hand. Then as the door burst open, he spun her around in front of him, his arm lodged tightly around her throat, using her as a human shield.

"Angel! Fiona! Thank God, and Goddess too. Fiona, don't look so worried, I'm fine. It didn't take me that long to figure out Magla wasn't here for any apologies." Ed winced, the pain from his wound beginning to be severe. He threw Magla down, and she quickly reached for and grabbed the althame again, sneered and started to rise.

"By the power of the Goddess within me, STOP!" Fiona lifted her arms in the air as if they were wings, and brought them down, hard. Magla jerked like she'd been hit with electricity, and the athlame went flying from her hand, and fell at Angel's feet. Magla crumbled to the ground, unconscious.

"I've been in some situations in the past where that little trick of yours would have really come in handy, Fiona." Ed grinned wryly. Fiona was frowning at him. "What's wrong?"

"By the Blessed Virgin Mother! Your face, Q-Tip! Your face!" Angel cried.

"Angel, no need to panic, it's only a little blood." Ed grumbled, lifting a hand to gingerly feel his gashed face. He stared at his hand. It was smaller, and his curved nails reached at least a half-inch beyond his slender fingertips. "Oh no. Oh no, no, no. It's really happening, isn't it? Whatever that Magla bitch did to me. It's happening! My God." Ed crossed the room, entered his bedroom and went into his in suite bathroom. They came after him and heard him gasp as he looked at the large mirrored cabinet above his sink. His clothing sagged on him, but curved lushly where it hadn't before. His hair fell over his shoulders in a mass of shining waves of silver, like foam on the sea. His large vividly blue eyes were now heavily lashed, and were framed by perfectly arched wheat colored eyebrows. His fair , rosy tinted face was smeared with blood. His perfect lips were fuller, and palest coral. He looked absolutely as stunning as a woman as he had when he'd been a male, and Angel just stood there in shock.

"Q-Tip. May God forgive me. If I wasn't seeing this with my own two eyes, I'd never believe it."

"Edward, that cut is deep, do you have antiseptic in here? If not, I always carry herbs on me. I have some confrey which should work. If it doesn't stop bleeding we should take you to hospital to have it stitched."

"Fiona, take your hands off of me, stop fussing with me. Stop bleeding? If I have to look like this all my life it's better if I bleed to death! Look at me! I can't possibly live like this!"

"Edward, don't panic. I'm going to try to reverse the spell. That's why I brought Angel with me, I'm going to raise a power circle. And I want you to press charges against Magla. It's about time she learned what her life is going to be like without me protecting her. "

"Press charges? And what am I supposed to say when they ask me who I am? My identification shows me to be Edward Straker, NOT Edwina Straker! Oh God, if Alec ever sees me like this, you've GOT to do something, Fiona! You struck down Magla with a single magikal gesture. Help me! Please help me!" Ed started to weep. Angel just stared at him. Ed caught his look. "I swear to God if you look at me like that for one more minute I'll throw you out the nearest window, Angel! Haven't you ever seen anyone cry before? I know you've heard me sob before!"

"God forgive me, Q-Tip, but of course, I've heard you cry, cry for your mother back in the camp, cry for someone to just touch you again, cry when you were in indescribable pain from the beatings. I heard you scream as the bullets blasted into your emaciated body when you were leading us to a freedom all of us thought we'd never see. I carry all that memory in my soul. But to see you like this, believe me, Q-Tip, if I wasn't a married man-"

Ed had been glaring at him, and the glare was no less intimidating even in his current body. But his lip curled slightly at Angel's confession, and he began to chuckle.

"Angel, am I understanding you right? Are you saying you'd make a pass at me?" Ed laughed. Angel chuckled and went red.

"Q-Tip, right now you're the fairest rose in all of England, and I must admit it, yes, I would!"

Ed chuckled, then winced and pulled away from Fiona, wincing fiercely while she scowled in response.

"Stop that, I am trying to stop that bleeding. Men! They never can take care of themselves when it counts. So he's shot and he's a hero. He gets a serious cut and he's suddenly like a Mexican jumping bean on a trampoline. Will you please hold _still_?"

"In case you hadn't noticed, Miss Know-it-All High Priestess, I am not a man." Ed retorted. She smiled slightly at him, scolding herself for the warmth she felt at being so close to his body, but allowing herself to take in the beauty of those scrutinizing gem-like eyes that glittered with anger.

"To me and the Goddess you will **always** be one, Edward. I see nothing more than the handsome man who I saw for the first time at the fete, and I hear nothing more than the masculine, smooth as suede voice which drowned out all the fete's other sounds competing for my ears. Now sit down while I- Edward!" Fiona grabbed him as his eyes rolled back in his head briefly and he started to sway, and Angel hurried up to help her.

"I suddenly don't feel so good." Ed admitted, allowing Fiona to steady him. She had to stretch to wrap her arm around him.

"Shock from the wound, and adjustment to his new body. Angel, help me get him to his bed. Edward, let me help carry your weight.

"Damn it, I'm fine."

"Fiona, you might find it valuable to know his good friend Alec always says to me that whenever Q-Tip opens his mouth, he lies." Angel grinned and assisted Fiona in getting Ed underneath the sheets and the black and white faux fur throw on his bed.

"Believe me, he said he suddenly didn't feel so good and five seconds later denied it with flair. I'm beginning to get his friend's same feeling." Fiona chuckled, holding her handkerchief up to his wound.

"Oh, shut up you two. Listen, I have some topical antibiotic cream in my medicine cabinet, and some gauze. I have several kinds of pain medication in there too. I could use a couple of pills." Ed admitted. Fiona smoothed the spread over Ed and was about to go but Ed grabbed her wrist. She looked at him in surprise. "Angel knows where it is." Ed told her, expression guarded. Angel smiled knowingly and went to fetch it.

"Do you need pain pills often?" Fiona asked him, aware of a terrible vision of him in the cell forming in her mind, seeing him covered in his own blood, bitten by insects and smeared with feces, hearing him weakly chant a stanza from some poem in defiance of reality. His taking her hand had caused her to see that memory of his past, and she remembered what Angel had told her about him. _I thank whatever Gods may be, for my unconquerable soul. _It went straight to her heart. Gently she released her hand, and she told herself not to faint or cry. _What a old soul this man has! What determination! _She fought her instinct to take him into her arms and protect him from all hurt forever as his Earth Mother, and unconsciously pressed his wound too hard.

" Ow, oh Christ that hurts like hell!"

"Christ isn't the only Deity to appeal to, you know, and I _have _to press hard, you're still bleeding."

"You could have the decency to hand me a bullet to bite on, Fiona. My gun's over there. With my holster. They don't exactly suit me anymore. What am I supposed to do to defend myself? Carry a lace parasol as if I was Amelia Peabody? I suppose I'm being absurd, I know several women that can handle a pistol as well as I can, some even better."

"You have a _gun_? Is it loaded?" Fiona asked, wide-eyed, afraid.

"Of course my Glock is loaded with rounds. It isn't just for show. The flintlocks on my wall are real, but they aren't loaded. Don't look at me like you've never seen me before. I have a permit. You didn't see my Glock at the hospital because Alec took it before the ambulance came, and you were busy with Magla. Speaking of Magla, is she still out cold? I sure hope so. Oh damn, I already have-"

'What?" Fiona was looking with interest at what appeared to be driftwood or a tree branch hung above the Commander's bed. Now she looked back at him, he was cautiously exploring his body beneath the sheets. She chuckled. "Yes. You have breasts. It isn't the end of the world yet, Edward. Now stop struggling to get up."

"Here you go, Q-Tip, two American Vicodin pills, will that do? That medicine cabinet of yours is like a chemist shop, I've never seen so many pain pills in my life. I brought you some iced water too. You should try to eat something. Every time I see you, you're so thin and getting thinner. Why don't I make all of us something to eat? I specialize in scrambled eggs. I survived on them all during my bachelor days in Uni and the Rectory." Angel chuckled. "Fiona, you're doing a fine job on his wound. Uh- her wound?"

"Angel." Ed growled a warning in a leonine fashion, but he was now reduced to a kitten's mew, and Fiona bit her lip firmly to keep from laughing. It was also helpful in keeping her from grasping his hand again, resulting in sensations you couldn't get from a bottle of 100 proof.

Ed accepted the capsules, and swallowed them followed by thirsty gulps of the water.

'Actually I _am_ hungry. I would appreciate that, Angel. Would it interfere with whatever you are going to try to do, Fiona?"

'No, we'll all need our strength, and eggs sound delicious to me. Even a little meat. I confess I am not a vegan, as several of my coven are. Angel, can you pass me that gauze and tape and scissors? Great, thanks."

"Angel, you know where everything is, and would you make a fresh pot of coffee? Alec gave me an exceptionally nice French Press coffee maker on my last birthday."

"How old are you now anyway, Q-Tip?" Angel asked, watching Fiona carefully bandage Ed's gash.

Ed raised an elegant eyebrow, his subtle sense of humor returning.

"No self respecting woman ever tells her true age."

'There, you're already growing into the role." Fiona laughed. Angel chucked and left the room. Ed looked at her, and she tried to slow her galloping pulse.

"Do you really believe this circle, this ritual you're planning, will undo what she did? Speaking of her, I suppose you better go and see if she's okay. Call a taxi, send her home, Fiona. I'm not about to feed anyone who made me look like someone who lost to Zorro. "

'Fencing is an elegant sport." Fiona smiled.

"Fencing may _look_ elegant. It's hard work. Go and get Magla a taxi to take her home, before I throw her into my rubbish incinerator. What now?"

'You fence, too? Is there anything you don't do?"

'Yes. I don't tolerate people who try to slice me in half."

'Edward."

"What?" he asked in frustration, too aware of his airy feminine tones replacing his dusky ones.

"I'm beginning to be addicted to your wit and you. I'll go check Magla. You stay here in bed."

"I may be a woman, but this is my house. I'll go where I please." Ed scowled, but allowed himself to smile slowly, like the sun slowly unfolding its light at dawn. She smiled back, then left his bedroom. Ed sank moodily under the covers. After a while, he closed his eyes, and dozed off.

Chapter Six: Enchanter and Enchanted

Fiona Warren had always been a woman who appreciated beauty in all its forms. The beauty of nature. The beauty of music. The beauty of a cool breeze that blessedly kissed your face on a hot summer's day. Now, seated across from a beauty of a man which the fete and fate had dealt a losing card to, she began to question everything she once believed in.

Angel had made them dinner, scrambled eggs, with slivers of green pepper and ham and potatoes, both she and the priest had shared a bottle of Shiraz (a gift from his partner Alec, the non-drinker Straker had explained) and good conversation, and Straker had listened and drank his coffee in moody silence. After their meal, she had done her best to reverse the spell, but it hadn't worked. Magla had sullenly agreed to go home with Angel, barely hiding the contempt she held for Straker as he told her he'd press no charges against her. Her immature little smirk at the Commander had been countered with a steady, contemptuous stare, and she'd lowered her eyes as if that defiant stare was a blow that struck at her black heart, one only he could see. Looking at Angel for some compassion, she had gotten only an uncharacteristic blank look, as if he'd offered her a page of a hymnal with no words on it.

Normally, Angel knew, Magla would have chided the elderly priest that his God was a fallacy. To Magla's warped mind, what lie between a man's legs was the only god that a man worshipped. But she knew the old priest, indeed had suffered through many talks with him, and five minutes later had gone back to doing what she always did. Which always was whatever she wanted. Angel for his part had finally concluded there were some souls you couldn't save, but he didn't relish giving up on anyone, even someone with a conscience in tatters such as hers. If Magla had simply destroyed herself, he would have looked away. But Magla had found no contentment doing only that, breaking as many commandments in as short a time as possible, putting the lie to do no harm. Oh no. She had to destroy others, to make up for what had happened to her. Angel hoped that one day, Fiona would come to her senses and would turn her loose and wild, like a diseased dog she didn't have the heart to kill to put it out of its suffering.

Now, Magla had destroyed Q-Tip without really trying. But there had always been something deep in the man that nothing could touch or mar, an innate pride if you will, a sense of dignity and decorum which no one and nothing could touch. Even now, as he, well, she, had sat quietly, pushing the bits of egg he hadn't finished around his plate moodily with his fork. At times his fingers would touch the edge of the bandage on his face, and the look in his already guarded eyes would grow more distant. Finally, Angel had prayed over Straker, (Fiona also bowing her head in respect for Angel's kindness and wisdom if not in entire respect for what she believed was his limited God. To free-spirited Fiona, Angel's God had more issues than the flawed humans He was supposed to have created ) and then had gone, taking an unrepentant Magla with him. Her absence made the air in the room seem fresher to the Commander. He exchanged a look with Fiona that might have been from her oldest and deadliest foe. She forced herself to be quiet when Angel left with Magla, although a thousand questions passed through her head. She knew Magla's spells were of no use on Angel, his faith protected him, so neither she nor Straker feared she'd try to harm the priest. As limited as Angel's God was, the priest's faith in something Divine sustained and guarded him. In that sense, Fiona too was guided by the Divine, the Mother of All Things.

Ed Straker still sipped coffee an eternity later, then thankfully shattered the silence between them.

"It's getting pretty late, I'll take you home."

"Edward, I don't understand why it didn't work."

"It doesn't matter. The irony is that-"

"Yes?"

"Nothing."

"Tell me." She responded. She would have liked to have shaken him until his two extraordinarily vivid blue eyes fell out of his head like coins out of a slot machine, but that wasn't really a way to establish a friendship, she thought wryly.

"My son. It doesn't matter."

Her heart sunk. His son! Her damn heart! Why had she even allowed it to soar in the first place? But didn't do no harm apply both ways? What had she done to deserve this? Surely she had tried to help Magla. But what good had that done? Why had fate led her to this man when she wasn't free? Man? The delicate beauty, that shamed any flower in England, poised across from her, and turning her own womanhood into a joke, was he still a man? Yes, definitely a man. There was nothing feminine in the way he sat, the small, controlled movements of his hands as he ate. Nothing dainty in the way he pressed the orange linen napkin to his lips, or the straightforward way those incredible eyes of his took her in and filed her away in some category he alone knew. She had spent, what? Five, six hours with this man, tops? The irony was, he was not the only one that had been enchanted. So had _she, _and by _him_. He had a branch from a tree above his bed. Did he know the sexual connotations of that branch, had he put it there by design, or Goddess forbid, as an advertisement of hidden wonders for any female sharing his bed? She had to laugh inwardly at that idea, but she found it arousing none the less. After the first coarse but playful comparison, her mind had wandered to other possibilities. It had reminded her of the wand she used in her practice of magick , (magick to make it different from what magicians did on stage )but she was only human, she had guessed at what his clothing concealed as he lie there helpless at the fete, his friend Alec beside himself with worry. Yes, he had cast his own magick spell on her, this silver blond enigma, this High Priest among men called Ed Straker.

The trouble was, she hadn't expected to ever be tainted with this particular spell. Tainted, wasn't that word too harsh? No. What good had sex ever brought to Magla? Had it healed her in the way they had both hoped for? They'd hardly reached their teens when their parents had died, and although Fiona knew she was the more mature of the two of them, it had not softened her grief, especially her grief for her mother, who had passed on to her older daughter the wisdom and compassion that drew all to her. Magla must have grieved, but had seemed to explode from within, giving Fiona the impression that Magla had drained out all there was left of the wine called life, had experience after experience with her blooming sexuality, her need for intimacy, in truth Fiona knew it to be merely a poor substitute for parental love lost, and that had eaten away her soul. It had turned the younger Magla older and jaded beyond her years.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to spoil your mood. I wasn't aware you knew Angel so well, he and Alec are my best and closest friends."

"We always share our take from the fete with St. Stephen's. I may be the High Priestess of a coven, but spirituality and peace and guidance is what most of my clients are after, and if my methods don't work for them, I always send them to Angel, but don't tell my coven I do that. They might decide to burn me, or something!" she chuckled. Without realizing it, her fingers curved around one of her looped dark braids and she pulled wisps of hair from the loose braid nervously.

He smiled at her again, making the pale brown hairs on her arms stand on end and play a tune dedicated to his perfection on a lyre.

"That isn't something I ever expected to hear from a white witch."

"I prefer High Priestess. It 's less likely to scare clients and rolls off the tongue better. Oh damn!"

"What's the matter?"

"My pins! They're made with real pearls. You have no idea how many of them I've already lost, and they were a gift from my mother, and they were a gift from hers. Damn me and my bad habits. Drat! There goes another one. I'm falling apart here, literally. Oh no, don't get up Edward, I'll find them, I always do, well most of them, anyway."

Ed had risen and stood next to her as she still sat in his chair at the glass dining table, and he bent and came up with a wavy gold hairpin with a pearl at its crown. She leaned the opposite way, and aimed for, and located another pin. The exertion had only caused her braid to come loose, and pins went flying everywhere.

"I suppose I'm going to have problems just like that, if I never go back to being a man." Ed grinned. " Wait. Just look at you."

Something in his tone made her look up. Goddess, but he was gorgeous. She found that if she looked with her heart, and not her eyes, she saw the elegant man unconscious on the ground, for whom poetry should be written, and for whom ballads should be sung. Goddess! Listen to me. It isn't as if I'm a lovesick girl. Well, you have that one right, Fiona Warren. You're a lovesick _woman_.

"What?"

"You sure your name is Fiona Warren?"

"Why wouldn't it be?"

"I was thinking Rapunzel would be more appropriate. Is that hair real?"

Fiona actually sputtered, like a plane with a propeller someone had hardly bothered to crank, yet still expecting the aircraft to take off. Handsome or not, he'd insulted the one feature she was proud of.

'Of course it's real. "

"I've made you sore at me." He sounded sad, but for the moment, vanity won out, her intuition failed her, and she glared at him, her adoration of him gone with no forwarding address.

"Why in the seven moons would you think it wasn't?"

He chuckled.

'Fiona, you're forgetting I work at a film studio. Everything there isn't real. People pay to be deceived. I see starlets and they're held together by spit and glue and lies masquerading as promises. I didn't mean anything by it."

"Edward, I don't know how to be anyone else but me. I'm not someone who tries to be something I'm not to bend a man's eyes in my direction."

"But Magla is. And you live with it. For the life of me, I don't know why. More coffee? There's some wine left. If Alec was here, there wouldn't be. Sit down, sit down. That is, unless you have to leave? Do you work tomorrow?"

The true words stung her, but his compassion for her predicament touched her heart. Why indeed? Guilt? The knowledge that without her, Magla would destroy herself?

"I have no set job with set hours. I work for myself, Edward. I'd go insane if I had to sit at a cubicle somewhere to put bread on my table."

"I was worried that I was keeping you here, I don't want to be anyone's burden." he said. This time the pain in his voice was so clear, she felt she could reach out and touch it. He was driving her crazy just breathing. Yet it would have killed her if he had stopped. In this man, the rising and falling of that slim boned chest was exciting. But the clever mind she suspected was behind it made her incoherent just thinking about it.

"You aren't. And you don't listen very well."

"I don't?" he seemed perplexed. It made him look very young, Fiona noticed, and she felt her heart crack in sorrow once again.

"I said to you earlier, I'm getting addicted to your wit and you. Especially-"

"Especially what?" He'd picked up a pin and was examining it. "I fear this one is bent. I think I can fix it."

"Especially _you_." There. She'd said it. Goddess forgive me, but that man is driving me insane. And you can't be thirty-four and still be a virgin. There had to be a law prohibiting that somewhere. Angel might know. It was my decision to devote myself to the Goddess. All right, so technically I'm no vestal virgin. But that clumsy first introduction to the world of sex couldn't possibly be counted, could it? What in the world could I have been thinking of? And it'll be my decision to end my celibacy, and if I do, by Goddess it'll be with _this_ man, if he'll have me.

He looked at her somberly.

"Fiona, what are you doing?" Ed said darkly.

"I'm trying to tell you I need to know something."

"Why do I feel like you're the one asking all the questions?"

'Because I am. Now will you just answer my question?"

"No."

Fiona's mouth fell open. He grinned at her. She expected by now she had burn marks all over her heart from the electricity surging through it every time his large blue eyes lit up in that fashion. Absolutely and ultimately, only those eyes could illuminate her life. She imagined when he closed them at night, the whole of England went dark. She had to know. No matter how much it hurt, she had to know. And if even he did have a wife somewhere, and she was cruel to him, if she could offer him one night, one night that he could remember, she'd give him that. She would see the man. She would make him see the man behind the mask of womanhood, too.

"No?"

"Not here. Come on, come help me do the dishes. I'm afraid I'm something of a glutton for neatness. An old symptom from my military days. I'll make us another pot of coffee. I'm afraid I'm a glutton for caffeine, too."

"It's hard to imagine you as a grunt." Fiona grinned, getting out of her chair. Ed had been picking up the plates, stacking them. Now it was his turn to look indignant. He set the plates down, took her arm firmly. The American Fourth of July with full symphony orchestra and fireworks, picnics with hand picked, trained ants and a whole crate full of the bubbly went off in her head. She tried to see clearly the visions she was suddenly getting from him. Besides, what kind of man dragged you to the bedroom because you just called him a grunt? That was a new pick up line. At least she thought she was being dragged to the bedroom. Yes, that was definitely where they were heading. Then her ardor died, because he spread his arms, and dramatically opened the double doors of his armoire. His house might be unpredictably colorful, with its dangling paper lanterns, and his plants (they actually looked well taken care of) and paintings, and sculptures, and alabaster eggs. At least a dozen. She had told herself not to make the joke about cheaper by the dozen. But his closet seemed drab. From A to Z.

"You brought me to your bedroom because you wanted to show me your closet?"

He gave her one of his looks. It felt akin to being a bull and getting gored by the matador. He reached for and took something out of the armoire. It was a garment bag. He unzipped it, took out the uniform concealed in it and pushed it at her. You could have eaten off it, it was that clean, that impressive. She knew instinctively he had never done this before. He was a little boy. Trying to impress her. It touched her heart and she wanted to take him in her arms. Something told her to wait.

"Does that look like I am- that I was a grunt?" he snapped at her. "I'm a full bird, a Colonel. Retired," he added.

Fiona grinned at him.

"Vain."

"What?"

'You're vain."

"I most certainly am not," he replied, and to a sensitive like her it was as if he had shouted quite the opposite.

"You most certainly am. This is important to you. Tell me about it, Edward. I know that one. You were injured. That's a purple heart, right?"

"Yes. But don't be too impressed. You'd get one if you had a paper cut while on duty."

'Oh right, Sir. So how bad was your paper cut? No, don't put it away. Please?

"You can look at it. My paper cut? Let's see. Eighteen stitches. Each at least an inch wide. Bullet went into my left shoulder, shattered bones, grazed my brachial nerve. They didn't think I'd ever move my arm again let alone fly again. I didn't want to do anything again so I hardly cared. Then the old bloody-mindedness kicked in. It helped that I met Alec in the hospital. He probably saved my life."

"I'm glad." Fiona said fiercely.

"Fiona, don't."

"Don't what?"

"Just don't. Come on, I'll take you home."

"Do you want to?" Fiona asked him desperately.

"Don't fight me like this!"

"Do you want me to go?"

"Damn you, Fiona! Look at me! Look-at-me. Now, just go."

"Edward, are you married? Is there someone else?"

"You're joking, right? What kind of a husband, what kind of a lover, would I be the way I am now? My work means everything to me. Now even that is taken away. Christ, these damn hormones! Must I break into tears for the rest of my life each time I-"

"Each time you're lonely? Each time you feel pain?"

"Fiona, I'm acting strangely. Better I put a gun to my-"

And she saw him do it. Saw everything. She had gone into her house, waved goodbye to him. He'd smiled, nodded. He'd disgused his feminine body with a dark hat, scarf and trench coat, she could even see the Burberry tartan on the liner. He'd gone home, taken pad, taken paper, written a suicide note with a fountain pen, short, helpful, giving instructions, appropriate. He'd methodically opened his safe. He'd taken out his will. He'd touched the wristwatch he'd almost lost because it no longer fit his wrist. He'd loaded the ugly little gun. Put in the bullets. Inserted the business end of it into his mouth. Fired.

"NO!" she screamed, and grabbed his hands. Startled, he'd not even moved.

"My God, what's wrong?"

"I love you, that's what's wrong. I've fallen in love with you. I see all possibilities, everything that could happen to you, and I just watched you die. And you think only Alec would mourn you, isn't that right? Edward, isn't that right?"

"I don't know what to say." the Commander replied coldly.

"Have you had many women in your life?"

"In grade school and college a few, yeah. But I was captured by a fair maiden named duty long before I could ever woo a flesh and blood one. Fiona, if we had met under different circumstances-"

"No. I need to know if there's someone else. I need to know before I give you whatever you want to take. Edward, do you want me to go?"

He looked at her for the longest time.

Almost inaudibly, he whispered, "No."

"Then I won't."

"Fiona. I- that is- I-"

"Would you like me to kiss you?"

'Yes. But we can't. Not while I-no. Not like this. Never like this."

"Who says? Who is here to see what lovers do except those medals on your uniform that you got from paper cuts acquired in the line of duty?"

He smiled and gently tried to let go of her.

"It isn't proper. Even if I was a woman who loved women."

"Edward, I keep telling you. I see YOU. I don't see a woman when I look at you. I don't even see an ordinary man. I see you. And the longer we are together, the more I see."

He jerked away, and her heart plummeted. She got a brief vision of somewhere deep under the earth, tunnels, screaming, lights, computers, sounds. The sight of horrible dead bodies, their organs ripped out of them without care. Blood, death, dying. He was part of it all. He kept the secrets. But the truth was, the secrets kept him. Kept him imprisoned, kept him from dreaming, kept him from ever hoping again. Now she would have felt his distrust even if they were separated by millions of miles. It was in that rigid figure, in those cold, icy blue, rigid eyes.

"Edward. Listen to me."

"I've heard enough. I'm taking you home." It was a command. A command. Why did that register with her? Was he some kind of Commander?

His doorbell rang. They swore in complete unison. Reluctantly, Straker plastered on an unreadable mask and opened it.

"I see you weren't spared the worse. I really am sorry, Mr. Straker. I know it's late, but can I come in? You make the best coffee in Southern England, or so your friend Alec claims and I could certainly use a cup of it."

"Come in, Detective Chief Inspector. This is-"

"Fiona Warren. Yes, I know. I'd need more fingers and toes to count all the times we've locked her sister Magla up."

Fiona sighed. It was going to be one hell of a lousy night.

Chapter Seven: The Secrets Keep You

Some minutes later, Straker handed the DCI a cup of coffee. Tom Barnaby accepted it and laid a shopping bag he'd been carrying aside his chair at Straker's dining table.

"I'm glad to see the police are so dedicated that they come and visit the victims of crime, but at nearly midnight I have to admit it's a bit of an inconvenience for the victims. " Ed told him. Tom chuckled, eyes sparkling and animated.

"There were some details about your unhappy incident I wasn't clear about, Mr. Straker, and I thought I'd come and make sure I had everything absolutely correct. Miss Warren, would you mind if Mr. Straker and I could talk in private?"

"Look, DCI Barnaby, if this is an attempt to get Edward to press charges against my sister, then rest assured, I won't stand in your way."

Barnaby's mobile rang, and Straker tried to recognize the DCI's ring tune, but only managed to assure himself it was a classical piece.

"Oh do forgive me. Probably my wife Joyce, demanding to know where I am. Police work and family responsibilities often clash, you see. DCI Barnaby here. Yes, Troy! I was expecting you sooner than this. I see, I see. Did she now? Give me a moment and we can talk freely. Excuse me, could I go into your bedroom and take this call?"

"Go ahead." Straker replied wearily.

The DCI stood up, balancing his mug of coffee and his telephone, gave them a parting smile and vanished into the bedroom.

"I really should get you home, Fiona."

"We're both exhausted, would you mind if I slept on your couch for the night? I don't want to go home just now. I'd say something to Magla I might regret."

'I would mind. You'll sleep in my bed, I'll take the couch. Although I am not sure what I-"

Tom Barnaby came out of the bedroom before Fiona could make an argument she knew she would lose, looking grim and old.

"I'm afraid DS Troy stopped Right Reverend Stanley Brisby for speeding. It appears he was escorting Magla Warren home, and she objected, making a right royal scene. We were forced to arrest her, for slapping an uniformed officer accompanying Troy."

Fiona moaned and sank her head into her hands. Ed Straker looked puzzled.

"Angel was speeding?"

"Mr. Straker, could I have a word with you? Alone."

Fiona suddenly jumped up in tears and ran into Straker's bedroom and shut the door.

Ed looked toward the bedroom, frowned.

"Was that necessary?" the Commander asked. "She blames herself for everything her sister does."

"Ed,-"

Straker shook his head.

"Give me a minute."

The Commander got up and went up to a Roman bust on a stand behind the table. He pushed the base of it sideways. A small control panel slid up, upon it was a row of buttons. Straker punched two. He then slid the base back into place.

"Neat gadget that." Barnaby chuckled.

"I wouldn't think that someone who cut his teeth in MI6 before he joined the police would find a simple white noise generator all that impressive."

"Ah, but you punched _two_ buttons, my dear fellow." Tom pointed out.

" Good eyes, but then in your business I'd expect nothing less. Activated the secondary security systems of the house. It's good to see you again, Thomas."

"And it's good to see the man who dreamed up the Chrysalis Project long before he allowed one American General to chain him to an attache case full of photographs of flying saucers and was injured in a Rolls accident that wound up nearly killing him, thereby kissing ordinary life goodbye. MIT business, wasn't Chrysalis?" The two men shook hands, smiled at one another.

"The beginnings of it, yes, all hush hush. The actual project is now housed at a SHADO installation under a bookshop, known only to me and Colonel Alec Freeman, still in operation and covered by Aegis Security Clearance, and as we like to say, the only level higher than that is strictly Angel's department. So, now tell me the real reason you're here drinking my supply of Columbian coffee. We both know Angel would never speed with another person present in that beat up woody estate car of his he's always restoring. Now if he was alone-" Ed smiled. He picked up his cup of coffee, sipped it.

"When the wife is away, the church mouse will go over the speed limit? I admit, I don't see what he sees in that Frances of his. Talk about a tempest in a tea cup. She'd give Will Shakespeare a writer's block, my daughter Cully said of her."

"I've always thought he felt responsible for Quinton Cross' death, Drummer, who died in the escape from the prisoner of war camp all three of us were in, and guilt led to love. That's not important now. Quit stalling, Thomas."

"You're probably the only one in England who calls me that. You're possibly the only one I let get away with it for long. The truth is, Ed, that I wasn't at that fete to purchase gifts for friends who fancied being white witches. I was there because I have been following a lead on a case that has taken away a year of my life. Do you remember Neal Guinn?"

"Neal Guinn the actor? Yes, he did some movies for us, commercials and some voiceovers for animations at my studio some months back. Talented actor, but somewhere along the line he found he preferred bedding women and consuming alcohol to being lit by stage lights. His life began to take a toll on his leading man's looks. He was sacked for being drunk during a production, and disappeared soon afterward, without a trace. A routine SHADO investigation was inconclusive as to the reason for his disappearance, and so we turned the case over to the police. That was the first time I heard about your expertise, you know, since meeting you at MI6 and being impressed with your record. Under different circumstances, I would have stolen you for SHADO, but you were in your element already. Why are you bringing him up?"

"Be patient, Ed. Earlier, I had a drink with Alec at his flat to apologize for my behavior at the fete, and we discussed the case again. He was so upset at seeing you be injured, he'd temporarily forgotten who I was. Alec recollected he'd spoken with the man once or twice, and they'd discussed dolly birds, you know, the young starlets they were dating. Guinn had a tendency toward loose morals, loose lips and loose underwear when he was drinking heavily, and he mentioned to your friend Alec that his current conquest liked to have sex while she was wearing disguises. Alec hadn't told me that at the time of the disappearance."

Ed Straker scowled, remembering what Fiona had said about Magla. _Ed, Alec did go to bed with her, but its obvious she was disguised or he would have recognized her. _

"Go on."

"Well, at first it just seemed like a fetish, understandable considering he was having sex with a lot of actresses, and actors for that matter. Then, other older men began to go missing. Around the same age, same build, same coloring. All of them fancied themselves Casanovas. All of them in the public eye, design, singers, talent agents. All of them had something in common. They'd been known to speak freely about their women, one woman in particular, who boasted, sometimes even in public, that she never slept with anything on, boasted that she was bisexual, openly practiced group sex and didn't believe any woman could really be raped, that women were created solely for a man's pleasure. In other words, she advertised herself as free candy for any man who was ignorant to take it. Only they didn't seem to know what her real personality was. We found their bodies, they died in various ways, all horrible. Always we would discover masks and other disguises with the bodies, and until recently we couldn't imagine why, other than it being a standard sexual fetish."

"Now listen here, Barnaby. I know where this is headed. You think that Magla-"

"No, Ed. I know it to be more than a hunch, I'm afraid. We recently found Neal Guinn's body in an abandoned garage, we identified him by his dental records. He'd been stabbed repeatedly. The weapon was a handcrafted ceremonial althame with the initials M.W. on it, and we matched it to one we know Magla Warren still owns, also identical to one owned by Fiona Warren, all of which Fiona makes herself. In his hand was a tuft of hair. Synthetic red hair. Troy has been trailing Magla Warren for me since she was released from gaol. Only Magla managed to elude him earlier, and evidently that's when she talked Angel into giving her your address. Thankfully, Fiona and Angel reached you in time and you weren't hurt too badly. We believe Neil Guinn was the man whom she claimed raped her, and then disappeared. "

"Only he didn't vanish at all, did he, Thomas. You're saying she killed him."

"And possibly all the other men, yes. I had Troy and another female DS stop Angel's car on the pretense of speeding, and Troy made some caustic remarks about Magla constantly being in trouble. I needed her to act out so that she could be legally arrested. We collected her belongings, including her key, and Troy managed to get a warrant to search the Warren house on the strength of finding her athlame by Guinn's body. We found several objects, buttons, hair, nail clippings, cigarette butts, hidden under a loose floorboard in the closet of her room, and we are only beginning to absolutely connect them with the dead men now. When we spoke to Angel privately, we apologized, explained what we'd done. He was sad, but he said he was glad it was all over, that she was a tortured soul he couldn't help. He said he always admired the Craft's law of do no harm, lest it come back threefold. Well, Magla disobeyed the most important rule and will pay for it."

" My God, Thomas. You're saying Magla Warren was a serial killer, keeping trophies from her kills."

"It's beginning to look that way, Ed. What is it?"

"Something Fiona told me, she forced Magla to tell her what happened while they rushed me to the hospital. Magla took a cigarette butt from Alec's house after sleeping with him. Fiona said Magla always takes things from whomever she has sex with, because she is trying to recreate what happened to her the day of the rape, with different results. "

"I think I have that most rare of breed of murderer finally locked up, a female serial killer." Tom Barnaby said gravely.

"_NO!"_

The two men turned. Fiona Warren stood there, hands balled into fists, with an expression of horror.

"You had no right to invade her privacy! No right! She's my baby sister, don't you understand? She's my baby sister!"

"Fiona." Ed said softly. "I'm so sorry."

"_NO! _Don't you see? It's my fault, Edward. I looked the other way. I listened to her excuses. I refused to believe there was evil in her. But I think I knew. Oh my stars, I think I knew. Oh Goddess help me! Help me! What have I done? She could have killed you too!"

"Fiona, please. How much have you heard?" Ed said, shaken.

"Edward, stop worrying, I know the secret keeps _you. _Edward, love, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. What kind of High Priestess am I? I knew something was wrong, and I didn't do what I should have. I felt so bad for her. I tried to be her father and her mother. I was so blind! Even the coven turned against me because I protected and defended her, I could feel it. And all this time, all this time-do no harm, and she killed, she _KILLED_!" Fiona's eyes rolled back in her head and she fainted. Straker went swiftly to her, and pressed her to him. Her dark hair hung loosely over her shoulders now, and again he was reminded of some princess in a fairy tale, cursed by a spell. Her pulse was faint, but she was breathing. She felt alarmingly cold against his body. Straker gazed up at the somber DCI, and Barnaby noticed Straker was looking almost more pale than she was.

"Tom, ring for an ambulance, she may be in shock. Then get some water and a flannel from the bathroom. I probably have some smelling salts in the first aid kit too."

"Right."

But even as he did, Detective Chief Inspector Tom Barnaby thought about Fiona's strange words. _The secret keeps you_. Indeed. Straker's impossible job had taken his wife and his son from him, and he was bound to his secrets. _The secret keeps you, Ed Straker. _He knew Fiona Warren was a sensitive, someone who would have been more valuable than gold to any police department, a true psychic, but she wouldn't have wanted to use her gifts in that manner. But something else occurred to him, something he had observed at the fete, as he had come up from watching the suspect, Magla Warren, and seen her attack Commander Straker. The way that Fiona Warren had looked at Ed as he lie on the grass, unconscious. More importantly, the way Straker had looked at her unconscious figure just now. It was the same way he looked at Joyce, his wife, and Cully, his daughter. It didn't need a lot of detective work to detect. Or fingerprints to dust. It didn't require much of his crime solving genius. He saw it plainly.

It was romance, it was love.

Both the Warren daughters were beautiful women, enchantresses indeed. But only Fiona's heart was pure. Were she to fall in love, it absolutely could be depended upon. All that was needed was a prince charming, and Straker, with his striking looks, easily fit the bill, he even had the proper haircut. The charm could be improved upon, it was early days yet.

And if anything could save Ed Straker from a life where the secrets kept him, kept him alone, kept him isolated, kept him a prisoner of his fate worse than death, it was love.

Tom Barnaby had a definite bounce in his step as he finished dialing 999, and went to do what Straker had told him. If ever a man had passions, it was he, and one was playing Cupid on occasion for those whom he calculated needed it most. He could imagine what Dr. Dan Peterson the pathologist would say about Straker's current condition. Arrow right smack on target in the back. And true love in the air. Prime suspect: Cupid. The doctor would probably add with a self-satisfied smile that not many people would know it.

Tom Barnaby grinned.

He came back into the room with the flannel and the cup of water.

And although he had been in the business many years, and few things about humans and human behavior surprised him, what he saw now made his jaw drop.

He was still stunned even when he heard the siren.

Chapter Eight: Betrayed

She had never believed in hell before. After that six month period of her life, she now did. She told herself that certainly hell existed. First, it had been finding out from the solicitor that for several months Magla was emptying their joint savings and bank account. The payments on their house, a house both their parents had worked to provide them, had stopped and the house was being ripped from them. The owner had informed Fiona that he was selling it. No matter how much she had screamed, cried, sworn at him, he had said he'd probably not ever sell a home where a murderer had lived. He'd complained that he should never have trusted people who declared themselves witches.

"Or homosexuals, or women, or people of color? Or human beings? I have helped heal people! Ask Angel! Ask him, you damned man! No! My mother never was late with a payment on this house. My mother's soul is here, my father's soul is here! May you never sell it, then, if that's as black as your heart truly is! Did you think I asked Magla to kill those people? I have conscience if I have to kill a bug that might cause me harm! Oh never mind! I have no feelings, right? I mean, look at me! I don't dress like you do, so I must be no better than she!"

He'd slammed the door on her.

All her things lay outside of the house, all her books, her clothing, her paperwork. Fiona took a deep breath, bent, and collected a few things into a carry all. Then she'd turned and walked away from all her hope, as if it was a person she'd loved, but deserted.

There had been the months in court, testifying that yes, her sister had dated those men, yes, she'd come back and showed the things the men had bought her, brought home things from the date that had sentimental meaning for her. No, she hadn't known where Magla kept them, they were sisters, but they respected one another's privacy. Then watching them announce Magla Warren guilty of murdering seven men, including Neal Guinn. After that, Magla was to spend the rest of her life in Broadmoor. She had told the courtroom that everyone there would die. She had posed for the photographers, the blood thirsty paparazzi who made their living, in Fiona's opinion, on both the fortune and misfortune of others. She hadn't been afraid. Strangers had called out to her. She was famous now. She had chosen the devil. If nothing else, Fiona was free of her.

But that hadn't been the worse part of the nightmare. She had gone to the coven for a loan. To her despair, they had rejected her.

"You were too sure of yourself as High Priestess, Fiona. We told you that Magla wasn't to be trusted. That allowing her to share what we all made for a living wasn't a good idea."

'We all made? What I helped us to make, as a craftswoman! When have you picked up any tool more complex than a corkscrew? What was I supposed to do, Louisa? Allow her to be a prostitute?"

The woman scowled, as Fiona knew full well she had started off doing that to merely survive after her husband had deserted her.

"So you judge me?"

"Aren't you judging me? Aren't you all judging me now? Was I supposed to allow Magla to starve because she didn't have enough reason in her head to disbelieve pretty words some man would fill her ears with? "

"You've brought nothing but shame to us. We tried to live out our lives-"

"Oh to a Christian man's fear of hell with you Louisa! I'm no longer any good to any of you now, is that it? I used my head and hands to help us all to prosper as my blisters prove, better than any man could do, and as the Lady would teach us. Now I am nothing? I don't belong here?"

"You have said it. You chose your fate. You went against what the Goddess would have wanted." another woman said.

"Have I? But you paint your face constantly, Leona. You make yourself into something you are not. Is that too what the Goddess would have wanted you to do?"

She'd hit a nerve, as she intended.

"You have no right to speak to us like that!" Leona yelled, caught off guard.

"Oh? I can't speak even truth now? Is that what you're saying? I'm painted with my sister's shame, I still have to carry that?"

"We can no longer afford the bad publicity you've brought us, you must leave-"

Fiona pushed her aside, went for the cash box, and took hundreds of pounds out of it, enough to last her several months, and enough to pay the solicitor.

"What do you think you are doing?"

"Taking what is still mine. You all can have the store, the business. What materials are still left. You will not have to see me anymore. Once I called you all friends and sisters, now I see true. The Lady conveys her blessings in strange ways, but they are indeed blessings, when you have the eyes. I have always had the Sight. I am rid of Magla, who never felt gratitude toward a soul in her life, and I am rid of a family which I see finally never even considered me to be truly part of them. I am blessed, after all. Yet I wish you the prosperity which I can see you wouldn't have shared with the woman who gave it to you in the first place because I alone follow the Lady's teachings. Blessed be."

Fiona went back to the court, and signed paperwork, her heart numb.

Fiona sobbed as she left the court for the last time, accompanied by her solicitor, and DCI Barnaby. She paid the solicitor, he wished her well. Her roll of pounds was considerably smaller now.

Fiona had hidden her face with a large hat and sunglasses, and had been swept away into the taxi awaiting her after Tom Barnaby had openly hugged her. To her dull surprise, the driver was Alec Freeman.

"Why are you doing this? They told me in court that Edward was paying for the solicitor. I can't take money from him anymore. It isn't my way." Fiona was shaking. "I paid him in full. I could have paid him earlier, but I find out now my coven doesn't want me, apparently I carry Magla's terrible guilt like a stain on my dress I can't get out, no matter how hard I try. I was never that good at such things. I threw things away. Tell Edward I'll be all right, I don't want him to worry about me, I saw it in his heart, when he had to leave me."

"He was certain you'd hate him because he had to leave. That's what I wanted to speak to you about. Ed's been following everything that's happened to you closely. Ed and I tried to save your house this morning, but that bastard owner wouldn't let him, and he wouldn't let me break the bastard's jaw. Look, sit down, love. We'll get something to eat." Alec found himself naturally slipping into his native Australian accent. She might have been a beautiful woman, but right now she was just a kid, with no place to go.

Fiona sat, too exhausted to say a word. Her fingers pulled at her tightly coiled braids, and they found a single pin left, capped with a lustrious pearl. She held it tightly.

"Mama." she said. "I'm so sorry. I've lost almost all of them now, I've ruined everything. I couldn't save Magla, like you said I couldn't, but I tried, I swear to the Goddess that I tried. I know that the dead never leave us, but I can't feel you in my heart now. I miss you so much. Mama!" She began to sob again, until she was exhausted, and fell asleep.

Alec parked the car, looked at her for a moment. He reached over, and slowly drew the pearl hairpin from her hand, and slipped it into the inside pocket of his Nehru.

Chapter Nine: Ducking The Issues

Frances Brisby was emptying what was left of a sack of flour into a mixing bowl to make Q-Tip's favorite cake, lemon drizzle, when she heard the loud crash of broken glass. A sound like that could mean only one thing, a burglar, and her dead husband, Quentin Cross, known to his cronies as Drummer, had not left her a widow and a frail woman, no, not her. So she set down the bowl, and picked up her rifle from the gun case and inserted bullets into it as easily as the way some women put chocolate chips into cookie batter. To her advantage, she did both skillfully. Indeed, for four years straight, her cookies and her roses had won first prize ribbons. She was no fragile beauty at nearly seventy years of age, but a lot more capable than most land owners in the Cotswolds and when trouble came knocking at her door, most women her age called the police. She called the police when necessarily, but as Tom Barnaby would be the first to confirm, she called them names. To her admitted disappointment, no burglar awaited her, only her husband.

'Stanley Mitchell Brisby, what on Earth are you doing? That was my mother's-"

The short priest, who now didn't look any of his eighty-something years (he'd fudged on his birth certificate, and claimed to the Good Lord he only lied in a good cause) because he was madder than a flea ridden cat dipped in a wasp's nest, gave a yell. Now, Frances Brisby knew her husband. She knew all his small sins, and occasionally looked the wrong way, but this time, Angel had gone too far. That vase had cost her saintly mum almost as much as a titled woman's indecent Italian undergarments (according to the Daily Mail which Frances admitted she read if it was put in front of her, and the postman after her subscription which had come out of the blue, needed to put it in front of her, besides, it was Angel's, he used it often for ideas for sermons. There the vase lay, in pieces all over her freshly vacuumed floor. That had been her favorite vase. This wouldn't do.

"They wouldn't give her as much as a pound, those over powdered, self-righteous skinny cross-eyed bitches on a stick!"

"Stanley! Whatever are you talking about?"

"Fiona! The trial is over, that poor soul, I just spoke to Alec, and she's fast asleep at Q-Tip's house finally, safe. Alec told me everything that had happened to her. To think that I made sure those imbeciles had enough to eat and drink. Devils the lot of them, Cupcake! She took their money, good on her. I would have taken the lot, had it been me."

"That would have been stealing. Besides, I told you all those women were heathens. That woman would come in and try to-"

"Frances, I'm warning you."

Maybe it was the shock of the murdered vase. Maybe it was the indecent language they'd used that day in the Daily Mail, describing the killer witch and the condition of the corpses she'd dropped in her wake, the way a sailor dropped a net for food in the sea. Something that day caused Frances to ignore her husband's warning. He never warned her. Ever. So it would have been one hell of a warning.

'Stanley, I told you, that Fiona person was trouble."

"Trouble, was she? When did that lofty idea come to you, Frances? Between plucking roses, was it? Or frosting a cake? Or polishing the bloody furniture with polish that cost me more than the furniture did? This is a human being we're talking about! She never got over losing her parents, you white floured ninny, but no, you worry too much about your social standing in the neighborhood to think of that, don't you! And THE neighbors don't approve so that's enough for you. You see, I have this uncanny fault, Frances. I see good in everything and everybody, and it doesn't matter what God they may believe in, or what roses they grow in their back yard, or whether their vase was genuine crystal or as plastic as most of the starlets Alec dates lately. I knew the poor Sheila was hurting when she came to this village as a teen with her sister, both orphaned, but she wouldn't take money from me, she was too proud, I had to insist upon it, and even then it wasn't until I said I'd be personally insulted at a refusal that she'd accept it. She always paid me back, sometimes four, five times more than what I'd lent her. And what did she do? She created **Gifts From The Goddess**, and she made most of what she sold. Those five women prospered on her good works alone. So how have they treated her? They threw her out!"

"Stanley, I can't say I blame them." Frances said, and put her rifle away. Angel stared at her.

"I didn't quite get that, Frances. My ears don't work as well as they did once."

"I said I can't blame them. She's the sister of a common murderer, that's the plain truth. How are they ever going-"

Another vase whizzed through the air, and exploded next to Frances.

"You almost hit me, Stanley Brisby!"

'Right you are. My aim is as bad as my ears, so this time stay still for me and I'll meet my target." Stanley looked around anxiously for another projectile, happily located a lamp in the shape of a duck which had been from a parishoner. He hadn't liked either the giver or the gift, either. He flung the duck, but the only sound was the bang of the screen door as Frances flew out it. An instant after that, the duck met its demise.

Angel sank into a chair, exhausted.

"Lord, oh Lord. Lord, yes, I know, I lost my temper, and the last time that ever happened, I was a mere lad. Drummer warned me about how stubborn and hardheaded she was even back in the camp in Nam. He loved her so. Trying to get her to change her mind about something is like trying to melt steel with a torch bulb he said. I only was aware of how beautiful she was when I met her, and how she felt all melted against me when we kissed for the first time without shame. Before I knew it, I'd kept my promise to Drummer, and I married her with Your grace. We've never been blessed with a son, but I have Q-Tip, so my heart is full. But Lord, You know how worldly she is. Forgive me again, and I promise You, we both know it won't be the first time You'll have to. I apologize to You for losing my temper, and once my heartbeat gets normal, I'll go rescue her from the noisy neighbor. But Lord, we have a problem. Two, as a matter of fact. Both as stubborn as a roo in a pub fight. Both of them needing love. You see, Alec called me a while ago, and he said Q-Tip had a hairpin put in Fiona's hair which concealed a tape recorder. That's how he found out about those damned women, throwing her out. I wouldn't want to be them. Anyway, Lord, Alec says Q-Tip's in a sea of trouble like a toy ship in the middle of a storm in the Round Pond. He says, well, You know. You know all. Guide those two lost children, Lord. And for Heaven's sake, find Alec Freeman the right girl. The last actress he was parading with looked like she'd be turned down flat for one of those sex movies. Not that I know first hand about those things, Lord. I just read over Cupcake's shoulder when she's reading the rag she claims she doesn't know how she got a subscription for. That's all for now, Lord. Amen."

Angel chuckled. Then he sighed. Q-Tip and a High Priestess. Well, when you considered what kind of man Straker was, nothing less would have worked out. Assured by that conclusion, he set out to find Frances and apologize, maybe even talk her into a loving mood before she got back to baking. And happily lie about the dead duck.

That morning, Ed Straker had dropped into his chair in the SHADO office in exhaustion. The dawn had found him without the benefit of sleep, and not for the first time, and it brought its usual share of trouble. Alien trouble. A family owned small market in Wales had been destroyed, and further investigation had shown it to have been infiltrated by the aliens. Good work on the part of the local h.q. had scattered those humans involved captured all involved, and all that remained was the reports on it, which were still coming into the office. Again, Straker thanked the instinct that had made him choose a film studio as a cover. The chaos had been simply explained away as merely shooting a film, and the few souls that had probed further had all had a nice cuppa, amnesia drug courtesy of Harlington-Straker Studios. Ed was on the verge of drinking one himself, he hadn't been able to sleep for three nights so far, and ten minute naps in his chair really didn't provide him with what was necessary, according to Dr. Jackson. Ed had assured him he was fine, ducking the issue of a Commander's health, which he often did with Jackson. Ed knew fully well he didn't believe a word of it, but Ed getting away with yet another a lie in the doctor's mind probably served as some stress relief for the weary Commander, and he'd given Straker a couple of sleeping pills anyway. Ed was wondering where Colonel Lake was, considering breaking his own rule about never giving in to normal exhaustion. To his surprise, Alec Freeman had wandered in unexpectedly, Ed's eyes had widened, and he had scowled. The last time he'd seen Alec, he'd been told Lyle Cutter had perhaps wisely decided to leave Shado, and Alec had seen to the man's being given a dose of the amnesia drug. Ed had then told him to look after Fiona all during the trial, never to allow her out of his sight. She was staying at a hotel suit near the courtroom with a solicitor Ed had hand chosen for her, one that also worked for the studios.

"You're not supposed to be here today. You have your assignment." Ed said icily. "You're supposed to make sure Miss Warren is all right. You know how crazy the press can be when they smell blood, and I want her to be safe. Now get back on it, Alec. I owe her that much."

"You still haven't explained to me why you were certain you'd turned into a woman, Ed. You didn't seriously believe that crazy woman's threat, did you? Edwina indeed." Alec chuckled, knowing he had.

"Alec, you know as well as I do that a second look at that powder she threw at you revealed it to be concealing a hallucinatory drug. With all the lab work that gets thrown at that small hospital in the area, it doesn't surprise me they didn't look too closely at it, especially considering the strange circumstances. That's really what made me think I'd turned into a woman, so naturally I had all the loss of control of my emotions along that I thought went along with it. Tom Barnaby had it re-checked, found out about the mixup with the test, came over and went along with my illusion for the time being. Once I'd brought Fiona to the hospital and she was treated for shock, any delusion caused by taking drugs had to take second place in what was happening to me in my mind. I had Jackson check me out, there's no further drug in my system. I'm fine. Now go and look after Fiona, as you're supposed to be."

"You should have let me break that owner's face."

Ed smiled wearily.

"I think Tom's going to be looking closely into the way that man was managing his homes he rented to the public. Something about paperwork that accidentally wasn't filled out, he told me on the phone. Since I'm fortunate enough to be able to own my own house even after the, well, you know, that isn't a matter I have to concern myself with these days."

"Ed, that's something I wanted to discuss with you."

'I'm _not _moving, Alec. You keep saying it's a security issue. It may very well be, but I have a lot of weight in these matters, considering I pay for the damn house, not His Majesty James Henderson and the IAC Buckingham Palace. It's a place to sleep, it's secluded enough, I've bought up the property around it so no neighbors, I run the security checks, the Aegis equipment is installed, I even had Tom take a look at it, and he especially complimented me on it being state of the art when he took me back home the night we brought Fiona to the hospital. And Alec, I'll sleep eventually so quit worrying. You have that offensive father bear expression on your face. I'm not your cub."

'I see you can still read minds. See, you belong with Fiona."

"How is she? I have something I want you to pick up for her."

'I wouldn't know how she is. All I know is I left her in your bed." Alec shrugged. "Poor thing was exhausted. Went straight to sleep."

"You _WHAT_? You were supposed to bring her after court to your place!"

'She insisted on going to **your** place, she was looking for those pearl hairpins of hers. I tried to tell her to crash at my place, but she made some comment about not sharing it with the trashy women she'd heard I dated from Angel and Tom. They went to see her while she was being checked at the hospital, remember?"

"Take over for me here, dammit. That woman is going to hear from me."

Ed went out, nearly crashed into Tom Barnaby, who smiled and held out his Nehru jacket to him, the Commander took it, snarled, and made his way past him. Dr. Jackson casually strolled up, inquisitive at the Commander's departure. Tom grinned at him.

"Alec and I had a bet going he was so tired he wouldn't notice his jacket was missing from his chair. Alec won."

"How encouraging. I know it must be difficult, but sometimes, Colonel, I do agree with you on matters." The doctor purred in his European accent, like the hiss of a homicidal inclined feline.

"Jackson. Codswallop, old boy. I know you are Polish, and your name is far from Jackson. Jackson sounds Texan to me. I have Texan police friends who hate Texas." Tom laughed, feigning a proper high class accent.

"That is the name on the appropriate paperwork, Detective Chief Inspector Barnaby." Jackson insisted with that self-assured smile of his, like an Alaska grizzly bear chock full of fresh salmon.

"And I'm the bloody Queen. You and I agree, Doctor? That'll be the bloody end days. Pay up Tom." Alec insisted with a satisfied grin.

"Let's see. Ten pounds?" Tom asked innocently, producing his wallet.

"Twenty-five." Alec corrected him with a growl.

"Ed's right. You're a scoundrel, gospel truth that is, like my daughter might say, and a clever girl she is. Lovely too. And stay away from her, Alec ! How do you and Colonel Freeman agree, Doctor?" Tom asked.

"Fiona Warren would not insist on staying with the Commander. So you lied to him, and under the circumstances, without sleep, he failed to discern it, that is an indicator of how bad his health is at the moment. I found the woman's psychiatric report quite interesting. Let us just say she and the Commander share the ability of not facing difficult matters all that easily, and neither feels as if they need someone else in their lives. They are independent to a fault. As for the way I agree with Colonel Freeman, some things are best left unsaid. Good day, gentlemen. Wait, one more thing, gentlemen. I understand that those most unfortunate women lost the lease on their new store. All their checks- bounced, I believe is the expression? Considering their lack of support for Miss Warren, how very-"

"Appropriate?" Tom suggested wryly. Alec grinned again.

"Don't look at _me, _Jackson. That was Tom's idea."

"And you put it into practice, Colonel?"

"Now, that would mean illegally using Shado funds for financing something that would be agreeable for Commander's Straker's health. Or that's the way I see it." Alec folded his arms. Jackson mildly chuckled.

'And that is against the Shado charter, but not yours?"

"What would a man that looks like you, but has the name Jackson on his I.D. know, anyway?" Alec countered. Jackson went on grinning.

"Not to mention I have a building owner to talk to about certain paperwork that went pleasingly astray at the proper time." Tom thought, rocking on his heels. "Not to mention Troy and I collecting the belongings that thief made her leave behind."

"Gavin Troy could have been caught." Jackson said. His smile was a teasing but satisfying one.

"And had he been, he would have served his time, of course!" Tom chuckled.

" The poor man, at your beck and call, I should go as I planned. I would not like to be considered part of all this criminal behavior and have to explain it to Henderson. Colonel Freeman?"

Alec gave him a sour look, waiting.

"If the Commander does not sleep, make sure he takes that medication. He has a habit of taking it when it isn't needed, and a habit of not taking it when it is. But perhaps Miss Warren will look after him, and start the road to her own healing in doing so. Again, good day, Gentlemen ."

'Come on in the office. I'm going to introduce you to a most lovely woman." Alec said as he picked up the phone.

"I'm married, Alec."

'That never stopped me in my pursuit of beautiful women."

'And that shows on that handsome face of yours, too. Colonel Lake I presume? Since you're not about to spend the afternoon tied to Ed's desk?"

'I'm buying." Alec promised. "I have twenty-five of your pounds."

"Scoundrel. Tell Colonel Lake to take over asap. I'm thirsty. Plotting ruining a man who would throw a woman out of her own home, with all her memories in it, always makes me thirsty!"

'Sounds good to me. And have Troy join us."

'How nice of you to award him for making mischief for those awful people that caused Fiona harm."

'Nice? Nice wasn't my motivation. The starlet I am dating won't let me go, so I'll introduce her to Troy. She loves men in uniform."

"Don't ever go near my daughter." Barnaby said with a shudder, then both men were startled when Colonel Lake entered.

"Whenever men like you two get together, there's always trouble. Besides, I pumped Jackson for information. Whatever the plot is to get Ed out of that awful flat he lives in, and into a decent house, I'm in. The only thing wrong with Ed is he always picks the wrong women or the wrong women pick him. I'll take command, and don't worry, I'll tell Ed I offered."

' Wrong women, Maam? He picked Warren, not you?" Tom asked innocently.

'I was talking about that dreadful ex-wife of his, Barnaby and you know it."

'Sure, Love." Tom said, enjoying Virginia and her throaty voice, and her uh- outstanding values on exhibit, and the fact that Joyce didn't know who she was or where he was, so wouldn't care.

"Of course, Virginia." Alec said, as if she had an IQ the same as her shoe size. Virginia Lake grinned and rolled her eyes.

"Men underestimating women. You're all alike!"

'Except for your personal hero, the enigmatic and untouchable Commander Edward Straker? He seems to have been enchanted, judging from his decision to implant a bug in her pearl hairpin." Tom asked suggestively. "And oh my, all that sexy hair, long and loose, untouched by spray or gel, (Virginia scowled at that choice of phrase ) naturally soft and luxuriant, a man could get lost in it.." Alec cackled madly at Barnaby playfully torturing her.

'Get out of my office!" Lake said. They did. Quickly. Lake slammed the door lock button.

"Yes, him." she sighed wistfully. "Straker."

Chapter Ten: Away in Doves!

'Yes, that's right. Straker. Edward Straker. I was called last night by the manager and told that my special items I ordered made were finished."

"One moment, Mr. Straker, if you wouldn't mind waiting one more moment, it seems another customer has a problem. Perhaps a difference in language? I am new here, I apologize. Your bill will be paid Sir, courtesy of the establishment."

"Courtesy? What do you know of courtesy? I come here, I trust my precious lapel pin to these imbeciles! And what have they done to it I ask of you, Monsieur ?" The man turned to Ed, distraught.

Ed had to admit to himself that he was tired. He hadn't even noticed the man standing at the counter with a rather oval face, striking mustache, immaculately tailored suit, and spats ? In this day and age? They suited him, somehow. Shiny patent leather shoes, and disagreeable accented tone of voice. French accent. No, Belgian he decided with a knowing grin. The man was tapping his cane, which was topped with an elegant sterling silver swan. Suddenly he'd known exactly who he was standing next to. Was the man at the counter, the sales assistant at the very famous jewelry counter, a firm which sold leather goods as well as jewelry, the only one in England who didn't know who the funny little looking man was? Most likely the answer was yes.

"Did they lose it?" Ed asked, looking angrily at the shop assistant.

"Oh no, Sir. No, Sir. That's just the problem. He wanted the pin on his tussy mussy replaced. I haven't seen one of this kind for several years, Sir. We of course were able to replace the pin. He said it was broken, bent, in an accident."

"Accident? A bullet is not an accident, you swine. I was shot at! Yes! Hercule Poirot nearly was no more! Even my friend Hastings, Captain Hastings, he had come from Argentina, you see, and he came to the airport to greet me, he and his lovely wife, to pay a visit to the magnificent Hercule Poirot. Then a shot! But the criminal could not get away, for the Inspector Japp caught him and brought him to justice a second time. He had escaped from jail after I had personally given testimony as to his crime of cold blooded murder, and he had sought revenge, but I am no ordinary detective to pursue, I do not die easily. Accident? When you have solved as many crimes as I personally have, non, non, this was no accident my friend. This was attempted murder! You see, Monsieur, I stand here, breathing, and I will go and find a café where I will have my pastries from my Louis Vuitton bag, a gift from the firm, and buy my cup of chocolate, quite alive to enjoy it as you see, but you will rectify my mistake at once. Certainly Monsieur Straker, you are dressed well, your posture is perfect, your toilet, it is without imperfection. Military, yes? Retired, perhaps. No wedding ring. A Swiss wristwatch, not trendy as so many are, I approve. The great big blue eyes, attractive to the ladies, they are reddened, no sleep? Alas. Perhaps you have a problem that I, the great Hercule Poirot, can solve for you? But first this amateur will repair my pin! Yes? Then Papa Poirot will help you. It is about le femme, a woman, yes? To go without proper sleep, it is always le femme at fault. Yes?" the Belgian chuckled. Ed smiled at him.

"Mr. Purroll-"

"Non! Hercule Poirot! You still can not speak proper English in England? This is most distressing. Hastings would stand here in shame, shame that he is born in this same country as you. You will make good your promise. I will not pay a penny for my purchase of your services. In France, if this were to happen, you would be facing the firing squad."

Ed chuckled at him.

"You laugh at Hercule Poirot, Monsieur?"

"I don't think they shoot people who make an error in jewelry in France. Is that what they did? Incidentally, you are right. But of course you are right. How would the great Hercule Poirot of Belgium not be right? You don't recognize me. We have met. At a funeral of a French pilot friend."

"You know me then. You see, this man has excellent taste. Unlike you, he knows of my brilliance as a detective. Now! You will fix my pin?"

'But Sir, we _did. _The pin was bent, it could not be replaced. We put a new pin in. It is fine now. Please take it. Compliments of the-"

"You imbecile. This pin is eighteen karat gold, yes?"

"Of course. The finest available. That is why I do not see a problem."

"Mr. Poirot, was your pin fourteen karat gold?" Ed asked on a hunch.

"You see?" Poirot announced, pleased. "He walks in from the street, this man Edward Straker, and knows more about jewelry than Asprey!"

Ed chuckled. He'd been told about Poirot's eccentricities, and he was enjoying seeing them up close.

'Mr. Poirot didn't want anything changed on it. Did you keep his broken pin?"

"Yes, of course."

"I suggest you give it back to him, and he can have it replaced elsewhere. He can keep the new pin part, gratis of course, and have it made into an ascot pin. Now, if you'd please find my package?"

"Of course, of course."

The man came back and showed the Commander a specially gold velvet box with twelve eighteen karat hair pins topped with natural pearls, each a perfect copy of the ones Ed had found under his table. He smiled.

"Thank you, this is excellent. She's been through so much, she needed something special."

'How will you be paying, Sir?"

Ed took out his wallet, but Hercule lay a perfectly manicured hand on his arm, and shook his head.

"This man is my new friend, you will not charge him either. Or I will spread far and wide how you displeased the great Hercule Poirot and his new friend, the great Edward Straker of the movie studios! The business, it will turn away from the establishment in doves!"

"I think he means droves," Ed explained in amusement, watching the man see thousands of English pounds go down the drain in one afternoon on his watch and turn as grey as Hercule's cravat . He put his wallet away, and made up his mind to tell Fiona who had _really _bought her pearl pins for her.

Ed and the famed Belgian detective walked out into the street and they got into the bronze SHADO car together. Ed had offered to drive the detective to a café where Ed often went for coffee, and en route the two of them discussed the pros and cons of different coffees and roasting methods. Ed accepted a crème puff to share with Fiona and opened the door for Hercule to leave with some reluctance. The man was of a lost age, and England would be bereft indeed if it lost his genius. Sherlock Holmes was more celebrated, but there was none rarer in the world of detection than the little Belgian man with the grey cells.

"I am sorry there was no time for you and I to get acquainted again, as we did in the Belgian headquarters of Shado, oui? I have heard, I hear much with these old ears, the business in Wales, it was terrible. It is a good thing you are here, bon Edward, fearless, gallant Edward, to fight the real devils, the alien ones who genuinely cause us harm. The bon Dieu, He will bless you, Edward. Good luck with the lady who will get that package and half that crème puff." Hercule smiled. "Adieu, mon ami!"

'Safe trip back to the hotel, Hercule. No more stray bullets, all right?"

'But Commander! That would be so dull!"

Chapter Eleven: No Promises

Fiona was sleepily trying to figure out where she was. She rubbed her head, and two of her last hairpins fell to the ground. Seeing them brought reality down as firmly as they had fallen. She tearfully picked them up, but one had broken open. She stared, seeing the little electronic chip that was within. She realized with shock that she'd been bugged! The press? No, but she'd been staying at the hotel with the solictitor. She looked around and remembered Alec Freeman had told her Ed had insisted she come here, that there was something important about the case he needed to tell her. The sound of a key turning in a lock interrupted her memory of being given a cup of spice tea, one, no doubt, which had been drugged with a sedative by Alec.

She heard the soothing voice of Ed Straker calling her, and she got up, a trifle unsteadily. Ed was coming down the steps, and he stood, and smiled at her.

"So you insisted on coming here? Alec told me-what?" Ed put a parcel he was carrying down on a cow-skin and metal chair.

How could she tell him just seeing him again was a massage of her soul?

"My hair pin was bugged! And I didn't insist on coming here, I see he lied to you too!"

"Your hair pin was bugged? Aren't you being a little paranoid? You look a little sleepy. It'll pass. I know what Alec prefers to use. At least on civilians."

"I knew you weren't retired, Edward. Wait a minute. YOU did this? I can read that look of guilt in those blue eyes of yours. Alec drugged me? I'm going to kill that man! And you too! Why in the seven stars did you put a bug in my hairpin?"

"So I could keep a eye and an ear on you. I figured you'd be very careful not to lose the last hairpins you had, so I was assured I'd get a steady broadcast. I was with you in spirit all during that trial, Fiona. That's exactly what it was, a trial. In more ways than one." His caring radiated from him. For the first time she saw how weary he was.

'So both of us were lied to?" Fiona said, fighting an urge to throw herself into his arms as he came nearer to her, let his eyes fondle her, or so it seemed in her imagination. To a Christian's hell with reality for the moment.

"I don't think Alec Freeman tells the truth often to pretty ladies." Ed chuckled.

'If I had children, a daughter, I'd never allow them near him! But I can't have children." She saw shared pain in his eyes. " Edward, there's something I have to tell you."

"You bugged my hairpins? As you see, I'm myself. I never changed. Tom found out that powder Magla threw at me _did_ have a drug in it. The result was a mild hallucination, enough to make me think what might have happened did happen. I was stressed, so my normal psychological and physical resistance didn't work. Tom never saw me as a woman, only you and I."

"Edward, are you sure?"

"Why do you ask? God, I haven't developed breasts again, have I?" he chuckled. She only looked solemn. He frowned, waited.

"Edward, I didn't want you to get better. I didn't really want it when I did the power circle."

"Why?"

"If it had worked, you would have walked out of my life. I would never have seen you again. I would never have recovered from seeing you walk away. That would have done-it-" she broke into sobbing. Suddenly he was holding her tightly, his closeness making her lose all the control she had told herself was hers. She felt him gently stroking her hair.

"The worse is over now. Besides, I was bewitched, I was enchanted. But not by Magla. By you. I did a little checking up on you. Alec gave me a report. I wanted to know if I could trust you. Magla isn't the only one who temporarily tore up my life. Fiona, Fiona."

"Something is bothering you terribly. Those visions, those visions of terrible things around you. Those secrets that keep you."

"Yes. Yes, they do. There's so much I want to tell you. So much I wanted you to know. How I've missed you. How much I need you around me, if only to admire my uniform," he smiled. She chuckled, then her face became solemn again. "Fiona, I can't tell you how much it hurt not to be able to stand with you, all through that. So I came up with the hairpin idea. Oh. I have a gift for you, and a crème puff from a very special man. Come over here. Hurry and eat it, before I do."

"Crème puffs? The sugar will kill me. You look like you could stand to eat a dozen. You're so thin! What is this? No, you eat it. I insist. What's this box, Edward? Asprey's? "

"Something I ordered made for you."

"At Asprey's? By the Goddess, Edward. I can't accept this!"

'You refuse, and I'll personally sell naked pictures of you to the paparazzi." Ed grinned.

"Edward! All right! All right. OH MY-oh my-damn you! Pins, you've made me cry, oh Edward. My mother would be so pleased."

"I didn't buy them for her," Ed said between two quick bites of the crème puff, efficiently making it disappear. Fiona was holding the pins to the light. "Try them on. So that I-"

She stopped. Looked at him. He crossed by her, sat on the black sofa. She quietly followed him.

"Tell me," she said quietly. His large blue eyes were full of feelings that swept over her consciousness.

It was an eternity until he spoke.

"So that I can take them off. I want you in my life, Fiona. I'm tired of coming home to this place. It has no heart in it. It never did. I told you I was enchanted, I was telling you the truth. I believe I love you. But I can offer you no promises. I'm not an easy man to love."

"How wrong you are about that, Goddess, how wrong." She sat beside him, took his hand. His fingers closed gently over hers. She looked into his eyes without hesitation, willing him to believe her words, and her soul.

" I won't go into your appearance, or how you stirred my heart the moment I saw you at the fete, just that respectful nod to me, that voice. It was a drug I didn't want to stop taking. Then at the hospital your pain was tearing me to ribbons, I didn't want to leave you there, I saw so many possible futures, and none of them were good. Edward, you don't need to offer me anything, and as for trust, no investigation on paper or computer will tell you who I am. Only your heart will, and not until whomever destroyed it is finally a lost memory, and it heals. The only promises I can give you is that I promise I need you, I promise that I will not ever hurt you, I promise that I will love you always. But I can't promise you that I will go if for some reason you decide that-"

He silently took her into his arms. She felt as if all her life she had been in a desert, and he was the first drink of cooling water.

He held her firmly. She let his love wash over her senses. Tears fell down her cheeks. The only place she had felt loved since her parents' death was in his arms. I am loved. I am loved, I am loved, I love.

"I was terrified I'd never see you again. Fiona, I'm not what-"

" No. I've seen it. People ripped open. Blood. Terror. You deal with it. You protect. You've given up your life for it. You are a victim as much as they are. The secrets keep you. Let me ease that struggle."

"It won't be easy. I won't be able to be with you when you need me."

'Edward, precious. My heart. You could walk out of this room to some far off place no map ever revealed, and you'd still be with me. From now on, neither of us will ever be alone."

"I love you. And God knows, I need you. Someone has to protect me from Alec."

Fiona laughed.

'He's a dear, sweet man. Together maybe we have a chance of healing his-uh-adventurous side."

"That would be witchcraft." Ed chuckled. "Listen, he wants me to move out of here. "

"You've been thinking about it." Fiona said. He smiled.

"I'll have to get used to the way you can read me. Alec's like that, you know. Yeah, I have. I moved here after my divorce. It really isn't a home to me. You and I can find someplace that suits us. Money isn't an object."

'My stars, for all my life I've struggled. I can't imagine a life like that! I'd have to work, Edward, sell my pieces. Be equal, not depend on you."

'Fine, I'll give the hairpins back!"

'You do, and Magla won't be the only woman who killed a man!" she laughed, and his laughter joined with hers. The door buzzer sounded. They groaned.

Ed kissed her hard on the mouth, sending her head reeling. He then stood and smoothed his Nehru jacket down in a characteristic manner, and went to the door. He checked the door viewer, chuckled. He opened the door. Tom Barnaby stood there, Gavin Troy sullenly behind him, taking in the surroundings. Fiona could sense even from that distance that Troy had an disdain for the rich, because he wasn't. She smiled at the gentlemen.

'Do you think a policeman could get a cup of -"

"Not without a warrant!" Fiona yelled, and Ed and Tom laughed.

"Come in, I'll start the coffee bean grinder. Hello, Troy."

"Sir. " Gavin Troy said.

"What are you doing here this hour?" Fiona said, closing the door behind them as they came in. Ed smiled at her.

"Taking in your loveliness." Tom teased her. She beamed.

"Is flowery language like that how you caught Joyce?" Ed asked him, disappearing into his kitchen. Fiona chuckled at Ed's question.

"Yes!" Tom yelled. He heard Ed chuckle loudly, and the sound of the coffee bean grinder drowned it out. "How are you, Fiona?" Tom asked.

"Loved." she responded, her eyes glowing.

Tom bounced a little.

"So when am I going to be invited to the wedding?"

"Don't you think you're pushing things a bit?" Fiona complained, without much firm intention behind it.

"Fab place." Troy said. "Not what I'd expect from a film exec."

'You stereotype people too much, Gavin." Fiona said, flatly. Troy stared at her.

"What's that mean, then?"

"Troy, don't argue with the lady." Tom corrected him. Troy looked a bit sulky.

"Sir." Troy said in obedience, and sat on the long white leather couch. Ed came out, holding a tray with various cheeses on it, and passed it around. The door buzzer sounded again. Ed blinked. He handed Troy the tray. Tom chuckled at the look on his face, as if Straker expected Troy to be the waiter. The Commander went again to the door viewer. He laughed. Fiona waited, not sensing Alec, for she'd been around the Australia enough to know when he was close by.

The door opened.

'A thousand pardons, Monsieur Straker, but my apartment suite at Whitehaven Mansions, it is infected with le flies! At this late hour, nowhere can a hotel roof shelter Hercule Poirot, it is a disgrace! And captain Hastings and his wife, they shop, I leave them to it. There are several things in England they wish to take back with them to Argentina. I am alone to fight off the sudden infestation! "

'Flies, huh?" Ed said, arms folded. Tom and Gavin's jaws dropped, recognizing the small Belgian detective, whose genius towered over his height.

'Many of them! I was told the hotel Claridge is most exquisite, and the Connaught would suit someone as demanding as the famous Hercule Poirot, but is there room in the inns? No! It is inexcusable. So I throw myself on your mercy, Edward! They have told me they will call me when a place becomes available. That I, the great Hercule Poirot should have to wait, it is unheard of."

" I think it's more likely you got bored with Captain Hastings' tales and his wife's shopping, and grew curious about me and the woman you secured my hairpins for. Do you have any more of those delicious crème puffs of yours left, Hercule? She made me eat the one I brought her. " Ed revealed. "Come in, I'm making coffee. No doubt you know Barnaby and Troy."

"_He_ secured them?" Fiona said, knowing who he was, trying to not stare the way Gavin was, and trying to read the egg-headed stranger, but the little man only smiled.

"Not exactly, but I talked the rude shop assistant into not charging the gallant Edward. That way he would be able to buy you something else to set off your beauty, more pearls, or the diamonds emeralds, perhaps? I brought several pastries in the event that I would have this opportunity to meet the femme most enchanting, I am at your service, Mademoiselle. " Hercule gently took Fiona's hand, and lightly kissed it. She blushed. Ed smiled at her. He then gave a slight bow to Tom. "Detective Chief Inspector Barnaby and his assistant, Sargeant Gavin Troy, they have had some small successes, non? Yes, we have met, with Inspector Japp. I give you again the privilege of speaking with me, gentlemen!"

Troy rolled his eyes, and Fiona almost found herself agreeing with the younger policeman when it came to Poirot's opinion of himself. Poirot stared at Troy, who pushed the cheese plate at Poirot. Poirot inspected first Troy then it for several seconds, then chose a slice of brie on a lace edged paper napkin. She could feel Edward's respect for the Belgian investigator, and so she tried to see what it was he did that outweighed the man's ego. The Belgian's skill was not in question, only his attitude. Did he really have that lofty an opinion of his own successes? A little modesty wouldn't hurt, Fiona thought with amusement. It didn't matter. All she knew was that her life had changed, and she was loved. By a man named Edward Straker. And for whatever time they had as a gift from the Lady of all, she would love him, and cherish him, and look after him with all her heart and soul.

'Edward, truly you are the most fortunate of all the men in England!"

"I know, Hercule. I'm blessed by her presence." Ed smiled at her.

"I'm blessed by his." Fiona said firmly, and she could feel her father and mother's unearthly presence and their happy approval of Edward, and for the first time, did not grieve as they faded into the light, knowing she was finally safe and loved again.

'Non, non. The femme, she is beautiful, yes, but I speak of this cheese. It is delicious! You must tell me where you got it!"

She added her laughter to the men's.

The End

Author's Notes : Fiona and Edward will be back for another adventure, hopefully before too long, but I will be away with my own 'Edward' for a while, and won't be writing while I concentrate on my marriage and getting both of us well. As for Claire from my other Silk Wood Manor stories, she too may be back, but for now she is in another universe, with a different Ed Straker. Are they both Mary Sue's? Damn right they are, never canon, and I'm damned proud of it, I delight in it, as should any UFO author. Will Fiona marry the Commander? Does Alec Freeman drink? You bet she will. And again, I plan to give them the most lavish wedding, and I laugh at those 'in prison' who can't allow their own creativity to go unbound, and must obey the cruel whims of others. For me, I relish my writing freedom, and my choice to ignore them.

And I think both Commander Ed Straker and Fiona Warren would approve of my philosophy and my decision. Amelia and Edward

'


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